


the death of our hands

by potatolord



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Akaashi has OCD, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward First Times, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Eventual Smut, Family Dynamics, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Homophobia, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, The epic highs and lows of high school volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 108,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatolord/pseuds/potatolord
Summary: Akaashi Keiji was a lot of things, depending on who you asked.A brilliant student. A failed son. The boy Bokuto Koutarou had loved since the beginning.Akaashi Keiji doesn't know who he is, but he's trying.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 362
Kudos: 690





	1. lemon drops

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all !
> 
> I have been a fan of Bokuaka for literal years but never written anything about them, and so here I come with THIS :D
> 
> I have always headcannoned Akaashi as having OCD and this is something I just really wanted to write- a love story focused on Akaashi where his OCD is important but not defining.
> 
> Saying that, I do NOT have OCD, and even though I have done a lot of research to prepare this I could still be very wrong about some things, so please feel free to correct me!!
> 
> Thank you!! I hope you enjoy the fic :)

The floorboard below the stairs wouldn’t squeak if you knew it was loose, if you knew that you had to tread lightly. But if you were unaware and pressed with your full weight it would let out a high pitched groan of resistance until you eventually yielded and stepped away.

Akaashi Keiji was aware of this, and he always avoided the board the way only someone who was born and raised in this house would know how, for no reason other than he despised the way the noise echoed through his big, empty house.

There were still forty-five minutes before he had to be at school and he was already pristinely dressed.

When he got to the dining room the sight of his parents at the dining table surprised him. His mother was bent over a newspaper, glasses sat firmly on the bulge of her nose and she licked her finger to turn the page, while her other hand was linked loosely with his fathers, who had just finished devouring a slice of toast and wiped his hand down his crisply ironed shirt to free the crumbs from his fingers. Keiji watched with abject disgust but said nothing, instead sitting opposite to take a piece of toast from the centre of the table.

“Good morning, Keiji,” his mother chided without looking up from her paper. _Lick!_ and she turned the page. “How long before you have to leave?”

“Forty minutes,” he responded, but his mind was focused on how they had put too much butter on this slice. It pooled in the centre, so it had gone cold and soggy before the rest of the bread.

She looked up at him, and then looked down at her watch, and then looked to his father and sighed.

“Rin, could you drive him today? I’ve got a client meet at nine.”

His father licked his lips as he stared back, and he didn’t audibly sigh but the furrow of his eyebrows gave him away. One of his parents' favourite pastimes were talking about Keiji as though he was a cross they had to bear, usually in front of him as he pretended not to hear.

“You know I can’t do Mondays. The boy will just have to walk- he likes walking! Nothing wrong with a good walk, I’d say.”

“I like walking,” Keiji echoed his father, which was neither the whole truth nor a lie. Perhaps it was not the _walking_ he liked, but something else.

“Okay, well,” his mother checked her watch again, and sighed again, and finally threw down her paper on the table. “Keiji, I won’t be home until late, so you’ll have to fix yourself something for dinner. I’ll leave some money on the side for if you want to order.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“But don’t be bringing anybody back, son! We all know how _wild_ our Keiji is!” His father let out a belly laugh. Akaashi tried to make the upturn of his lips look natural.

“Of course.”

Keiji could see the crumbs on the table.

——

“AKAAAAAAASHI!”

Keiji smiled.

The boy was running up the streets to meet him, uncaring of unwanted attention, the sleeves of his Fukurodani blazer already pushed up to the grooves of his elbows, displaying the same level of happiness he always did when Keiji texted him that he was walking.

“Bokuto-san, thank you for meeting me,” Keiji smiled, eliciting a wide grin from Bokuto, who was already leading them in the direction of Fukurodani.

“Are you ready for practice, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto peered at him with wide, owl eyes, “because I’ve been considering our formations and I _really_ need your input!”

“What were you thinking?”

Bokuto plunges his hands deep into the pockets of the grey blazer, which always looks scruffy on him without trying the same way it always looks neat on Keiji. There are small puddles collecting in the dips of the pavement and Bokuto moves to step in as many as he can, the pools snapping beneath his feet.

“Well, it’s only an idea, but we’ve got one last practice match before nationals and I think we should test this on Nekoma, because obviously they have the best defence, but I think we should try and bring out Watari more!”

Keiji wonders if Bokuto is aware of how much he uses his hands in conversation as he ripped them from his pockets to gesture wildly, emphasising his story with the movements and swipes of his slender wrists and thick palms. Keiji had once read that you could see a person's future in their palms. He wondered what Bokuto’s would tell him.

“-and, I also think he needs to get used to being out more! He’s going to be one of the few of you left when we all graduate.”

Ah. Graduation.

Keiji’s stomach tightened.

“…that makes sense, yeah.”

“Really?”

Bokuto’s eyes were glowing with the praise. It was enough to bring a warm flush to Keiji’s cheeks, to make his stomach swell enough that he couldn’t pretend not to notice.

He liked it when Bokuto said smart things. He liked it a _lot._ But he liked Bokuto’s openness, how _genuine_ he was more.

“Yeah. I mean, you guys won’t be here forever. It is probably wise to prepare everyone for what comes after.”

“Yeah!” Bokuto chanted, pumping his curled fist into the air. Then, will dawning realisation, the arm slowly dropped back to his chest and he repeated, shakily, “yeah.”

—

Something Akaashi Keiji had always liked, and had always done, were lists.

He liked to be organised. He _needed_ to be organised, and lists were his very simple solution to the very complicated mess inside his head.

So he made lists about everything.

It was not always easy to cram thoughts into boxes the way he did, as not many things were made to be fit into neat little boxes. It involved excessive simplification of people and actions and thoughts and feelings, transforming complex issues into one sentence labels that he could organise and order as he pleased.

There were to-do-lists, which he considered daily and allowed him to live his life with as little _complication_ as possible. There were endless lists in his head ranking things, from his favourite books and foods to who in his English class, lest the situation arises, he would sacrifice if held at gunpoint.

He ranked his volleyball team on multiple bases; who he liked most, the best player (objectively) through to the worst, who was the most helpful and who was the ones the team could discard.

Tallies of who was benched the most raced through his head, how many times he had caught them lying to him, how often they talked to him outside of practice.

On occasion Keiji also had personal lists, specifically oriented around the people who meant the most to him. There was a list of his parents' fights and how to respond appropriately in order to minimise the damage. A list about where to wait when his mothers gets angry, or how to get his dad to step down from a fight. There was a list of Bokuto’s one-hundred weaknesses, and an ever-growing companion piece to that of his strengths.

When anxiety made his hands clammy, forcing him to wring his fingers together and fidget like a child, the lists were a beacon of reassurance that always helped him feel better. The knowledge that he would always be prepared for a situation made allowed him to stop worrying for just a moment, just long enough to avoid doing something stupid. They were a failsafe.

The list his mind scrolled through now was one he had only made recently, because he hadn’t wanted to consider it before;

_How to cope with the knowledge that all of your friends are going to University without you, leaving you to captain an almost entirely new team._

And the sub-list:

_How to be a good captain to your new team._

The former list was growing longer and longer in its solutions, but the first one had always remained the same, although its effectiveness was proving to be lessening with time.

_Solution no. 1: when you are feeling too emotional thinking about everybody leaving, a surefire way to protect yourself and temporarily feel better is to ignore the problem entirely._

_—_

“No, Bokuto-san, you have to-” Keiji sighed. It was difficult to remain patient. “You need three and four to match. You’ve got five and two.”

Bokuto looked at him the same way a puppy would look at an owner while being scolded, or a child would look to a parent who was badly explaining math homework.

“I don’t understand, though! They match!”

“Yes, they match, but the right ones aren’t matching.”

“I don’t understand!”

“Look, show me your hand-”

“No!”

“Bokuto-san!”

Bokuto clutched his seven cards to his chest, refusing to show Keiji, even though he had just laid all the cards out on the floor a moment ago exclaiming his win. Keiji huffed and Bokuto stuck out his bottom lip.

“You’re cheating.”

“I’m trying to explain the rules!”

“I already know the rules, that’s why I won!”

“No!” Keiji exclaimed, and then laid out his cards face up on the floor without thinking. “I have three kings, and I’ve got a five and six of diamonds, that means I have three matching. I need one set of three and one set of four, so I could either get another king and either a four or a seven, or I could get _both_ a four and a seven-”

It was clear the words were going over Bokuto’s head as he stared at Keiji with his head cocked slightly to the side. Keiji sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Okay, never mind. Let’s just play snap or something-”

“No! Wait, so what did I do wrong?”

“You need to show me your cards for me to tell you that.”

“I can’t show you!” Bokuto exclaimed. Keiji was briefly glad that they always ate their lunch in a secluded area of the courtyard, because Bokuto was sure to have drawn glances if there were others around.

Keiji levelled him with a stare, and Bokuto held out for only a moment longer before sighing and fixing Keiji with shiny eyes.

“Promise you won’t cheat?”

“I promise,” Keiji agrees, and Bokuto immediately fans his cards out on the ground.

A decently good hand, Keiji thinks, given that Bokuto had no idea how to play.

“See, you have three, four, five, six and seven of clubs, but only two aces. What you want to do is get rid of either this card-” he pointed to the three of clubs, “-or this card-” he moved to the seven of clubs, “- and replace it with another ace.”

“Oh, I see! Thanks Akaashi!”

“No problem Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto picked up his cards and clutched them close to his chest as if Keiji didn't know what was on their reverse. His eyebrows furrowed in a way that suggested he was entirely focused on his cards, deep in thought, and for a second Keiji worried that he hadn’t explained the game sufficiently and Bokuto was still contemplating the rules.

But then he looked up and grinned at Keiji.

“It’s your go, ‘Kaashi.”

“Oh, right,” Keiji mumbled and reached down to pull a card from the deck.

He didn’t need it, so he placed it face up on the discard pile.

“Ace of hearts.”

“I win!” Bokuto retrieved the card and grinned, throwing his hand down to show the four consecutive numbers and three aces he was in possession of.

Keiji smiled.

“Congratulations.”

Bokuto was radiant in the sunlight, his grin bright enough to be blinding if Keiji wasn’t sat under the shade of a big willow tree, and if he hadn’t seen that smile enough to prepare for it, to bind his heart to his chest with a thick chain.

Keiji cleared his throat.

“Should we pack up now? There are only fifteen minutes before the bell-”

“No! Not yet, I think I’m getting the hang of this game!”

Keiji paused for a moment, but smiled a small smile after.

“Okay, but you’re dealing.”

—

Keiji’s parents still weren’t home by the time practice was done, which meant he could enjoy another thirty minutes of Bokuto’s presence as they both walked home together, in which he would swing his and Bokuto’s arms so close together that he could envision catching his hand and _holding it,_ but far enough away that the backs of their knuckles wouldn’t actually touch.

“Do you want one?” Bokuto asks and offers Keiji one of the sweets from his packet. Usually he would decline, but upon closer speculation he can see that they’re all individually wrapped, and so he nods and Bokuto places it into his palm.

“Thank you,” he says, and then asks, “what flavour is it?”

“Lemon.”

Keiji’s favourite. He unwraps the sticky sweet and puts it into his mouth. Immediately he is overwhelmed by the sour sensations, causing all of his mouth to bristle and his tastebuds to reject.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s good right?!”

Bokuto put another into his mouth, not reacting in any visible way. Keiji sucked on it and held a thumbs up. The longer it fizzed away the less sour it got.

They walked in companionable silence, cataloguing the streets as they walked by. Keiji's heart plummeted when he realised they were quickly pulling up to Bokuto's street.

“My parents aren’t home tonight,” Keiji says out of nowhere, and is immediately confused as to why of all topics they could discuss that is the one he chose to talk about. Bokuto reacts immediately.

“Oh, really? I should come over!”

“No,” he says quickly, _too quickly,_ “it’s okay Bokuto-san. They’ve left me pizza money.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says, and Keiji worries his quick response will send Bokuto spiralling into a depressive slump, but instead he says, “you should come to mine, then!”

“I don’t think your family would appreciate me showing up out of nowhere like that, Bokuto-san,” Keiji smiles gently. Bokuto’s jaw drops.

“You’ve met them before, ‘Kaashi! No way they wouldn’t be happy to see you!”

“I’m not sure,” Keiji says, and though he is usually meticulous in the concealment of his emotions, Bokuto is impossibly proficient in understanding feelings and people and what they are _really_ saying behind their words.

“Okay you don’t have to stay the night or anything, but at _least_ come for dinner!” Bokuto says, and a trace of his pout makes it into his voice. Some connection in Keiji's mind compares him to a petulant child; the type who throws tantrums when they are not given what they want, but shift completely when they are. He knocks his shoulder against Keijis and adds on, “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Keiji warms in the spot Bokuto touched, and when he looks over his eyes are filled with Bokuto’s pleading expression, Bokuto's lip jutting out just so.

Keiji sighs and in his head he is evaluating the solutions to this scenario, outweighing the pros and cons of stepping into unfamiliar territory without knowing exactly how he would react. It had been a while since he had visited Bokuto's house, but he still remembered the scenes of chaos that would await for him.

But something in Bokuto’s eyes soothes and reassures him, and lets him know that nothing bad will happen, because he trusts Bokuto inexplicably, and because he trusts that Bokuto cares about him, too.

Against his better judgement Keiji smiles softly, and says, “I hope they don’t mind the intrusion.”


	2. housewarming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's who i am,  
> i find it's easier giving up  
> so i close my eyes,  
> pretend i've never seen the sky  
> and fear the only things i've ever loved.  
>  -the village, the wolf and the boy, taylor berrett

“Akaaaaahi!” A voice yelled out before Keiji even had the time to remove his shoes.

Two small children bombarded down the hallway, arms extended and their wild hair whipping around in a frenzy as they attached themselves to Keiji’s legs.

“Hey, leave Akaashi alone,” Bokuto exclaimed and began to bat at the children, but they only gripped on tighter and giggled into the fabric of Keiji’s trousers.

“It’s okay, Bokuto-san,” Keiji responded.

“Akaaaaaaashi,” Bokuto’s younger sister Yuna cried, elongating his name the same way Bokuto did. “You never come over anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Yuna. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You don’t have to _apologise_ to them, Akaashi!”

“Are you staying for dinner, ‘Kaashi?” The other child, Bokuto’s younger brother Hibiki asked, shaking his head wildly when the hair fell into his eyes. Bokuto laughed and grabbed him, interrupting to speak for Keiji.

“He will be, if you two _let him into the house.”_

Yuna groans and throws herself onto the floor, rolling around instead of standing up to walk. Hibiki giggles from Bokuto’s arms.

“Thank you,” Keiji said to Yuna and toes off his shoes the rest of the way.

When Bokuto drops Hibiki down on the floor the two children run up the hall, screaming and pushing one another as they did.

Bokuto turned back to him, eyes burning bright.

“Koutarou?”

“Mom!”

Bokuto turns and grins, and Keiji can see the figure of Bokuto’s mother appear from the kitchen into the hallway, a frying pan clutched tight in one hand and her charcoal hair bound back in a handkerchief.

It would be impossible to disregard the resemblance; they both had the same golden yellow eyes and the same crinkles below when they smiled, which seemed to be both of their default facial expressions. Though his mother was softer and wider than Bokuto their mannerisms were the same, and they both had the habit of using their wildly-gesturing hands to convey what their words struggled to.

“Oh, is that Akaashi? It’s been so long since we’ve seen you, dear!”

Keiji opens his mouth to answer, but Bokuto’s mom cuts in again.

“Come in from the porch, love! Koutarou your manners are atrocious!”

“Sorry, mom!” Bokuto bristles, and quickly motions Keiji in before shutting the door behind them.

Keiji had been into the Bokuto household countless times by now, but he was still always taken aback by how greatly it contrasted his own.

Where Keiji’s house was large and pristine and empty the Bokuto house was so obviously lived in. It was difficult for him to hide his distaste the first time he visited as he eyed the peeling painted walls and how every carpet seemed to have at least one mystery stain, but what he had once mistook for negligence he now realised were signs of life, which were what his house so obviously lacked in comparison.

Even now the house always managed to feel bustling, as framed photos of the six Bokuto children lined the hallway walls, as toys were tripping hazards strewn across the floorboards and as the laughs and wails of kids were always present.

He used to hate this house but now, even though he struggled to feel as though he fit in it, he wanted this lifestyle for himself.

As long as he forced his eyes away from its imperfections he could pretend his skin wasn’t crawling, and he could fool himself into thinking that this life could be something attainable.

“How are you, Akaashi? Still doing well in school?”

“I’m doing well, thank you, Bokuto-san,” Keiji responds to Bokuto’s mother as Bokuto ushers him through to the kitchen-diner, taking his place in one of the chairs and motioning Keiji to follow.

“I had no doubt! Your parents must be so proud!”

She flips the frying pan on the stove and the contents sizzle and soar through the air before settling back at the bottom, and she turns over her shoulder to look at him.

“Are you staying for dinner, dear?”

“Yes, please, if thats okay,”

“Oh, so polite!” She coos, as she always does when Keiji comes over. “Of course my dear!”

She turns to face Bokuto and pulls the sleeves of her dress up to her elbows, exposing long strips of her deep tan skin.

“Nori’s not well so please keep the noise down, Kou. Nana’s asleep too, don’t wake her.”

“Yes, mom!” Bokuto replies with enthusiasm and bows his head.

His mother laughs and turns back to the pan, and Bokuto leads them up to his bedroom.

—

“You’re good at math, ‘Kaashi, help meeeeee.”

Bokuto flopped over the edge of his bed so his hair brushed the floor and the blood swelled in his cheeks. His homework rested somewhere on the thing gap between the bed and Keiji’s outstretched legs.

“You’re not even trying, Bokuto-san.”

“I am!”

“You’re upside down.”

“I’m upside down _because_ I can’t do it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Akaaaaashi.”

Keiji puts his phone down and gently bats at Bokuto’s head with his foot until he stops pouting. He flips from laying on his back to laying on his front, and cushions his face with his arms to he can look at Keiji.

The evening sunlight streams in through the large window on Bokutos wall, one of those ones that lead to a piece of rooftop where you can sit and see the sky. His room is tiny but the light makes it look bigger, and it makes Bokuto look softer. His orange eyes glow as they blink, and his hair looks tinged pink.

“What?” Keiji asks after minutes of Bokuto staring at him with no response.

Bokuto continues to say nothing but Keiji is feeling restless being stared at, and not knowing how to respond he grabs for Bokuto’s discarded work on the floor.

Equations take up most of the paper, and Keiji can see Bokutos scribbly name signed at the top, but his eyes don’t immediately focus on any of these. They catch at the top edge of the paper, where the corner is slightly folded.

It is like he can’t tear his eyes away from it.

He can feel it coming, rising in his throat and thumping against the inside of his ribs, like a flood of water rushing against a flimsy dam. Containing it is pointless, because the flood is inevitable.

He uses his thumb to smooth it out but the small remnant divot remains. He can still see the crease where the paper was folded. Keiji can feel his jaw clench, the weight of his tongue in his mouth heavier than it was earlier.

 _No._ He tells himself sternly. _No. You’re not doing this._

He forces his eyes back to the equations. They’re not too difficult.

_1\. g(x)=ax2 + 24. For the function of g, a is a constant and g(4) = 8. What is the value of g(-4)?_

Keiji had done this homework last night. He _knew_ the answer, and even if he didn’t it would be easy enough to figure out.

His eyes darted back to the corner of the paper.

He swallowed.

_What is the value of g(-4)?_

“Akaashi?” Bokuto asked, head raised from his arms in curiosity or concern. Keiji paid him no mind, almost missing the question entirely.

Keiji cleared his throat.

“What is the value of g(-4)?” He said out loud, trying to snap his head back into the right frame.

Ants were underneath the supple flesh and skin of his arms. Every inch of him was crawling, uncomfortable and shifting. He couldn’t think about the question. He couldn’t think about anything other than the corner of the paper.

Dutifully Keiji closed his eyes. He forced his breaths to even out and rifled for one of his lists.

_What to do when you feel obsessions in places where you are not allowed to feel compulsions?_

_No. 6: if you cannot calm down, get rid of the problem._

Keiji blinked his eyes open and schooled his face into a neutral expression.

“I’ve done the homework already. I could send you the answers when I get back home?”

“Oh,” Bokuto said and took the paper Keiji was handing him back, then he perked back up, “okay! Thank you, Akaashi!”

Keiji forced a smile back.

He couldn’t calm down yet. In his head he counted, _one, two, three, four, five, six,_ as he breathed, he watched his fingers to anchor him back to where he was.

_In Bokuto’s bedroom. With Bokuto watching him._

When he looked up Bokuto’s eyes flitted away quickly, head resting on his palm as he pretended to be interested in some sight out of the window.

Keiji dropped his gaze after a moment. Better to pretend nothing had happened at all.

—

By the time he gets home his mother is already back, which Keiji can only tell because of the car in the driveway and not because her presence makes any difference in making the house feel less empty.

He had only eaten dinner a few hours ago at Bokuto’s house but he rifles through the kitchen cupboards anyway, and he laughs when he sees a brand of lemon sweets resembling the ones Bokuto had given to him earlier.

He puts one in his mouth, grimaces, and shuts the cupboard.

Briefly he is overwhelmed with the houses vastness. There was so little to do between the rooms empty walls.

Keiji closes his eyes and imagines a more interesting life where he is an astronaut, and that he is lost in the vast void of space but that it is navigable. He stands in his spaceship looking out at it through the safety of inches-thick glass rather than being consumed and drowning in it. There is nothing to do in space but he is complicit in it, because it is the loneliness he chooses rather than is stuck with.

The stars would cast his face in soft light. He would list all of their names and be exited to wake to them each morning.

When his eyes open he is still sitting in the dining room and his bare feet still brush the cold tile of the floor.

His mother walks in a moment later with the phone pressed in between her slim cheek and her shoulder, her long black hair free from its ponytail and swinging as she walked.

Keiji could make out enough words such as “yes,” and “immediately,” and “proposition”, to figure that this was a work call. Even if he hadn’t picked out the words that would have been the safe bet.

She still wears her blazer and pencil skirt, and raises her eyebrows in greeting to her son, clearly not worried about the reasonings to him sitting vacantly at the dining table.

Keiji knows better than to talk when she’s on the phone so he waits for her conversation to be over to interject. She doesn’t sit for the whole call, preferring to pace back and forth in their kitchen, running her manicured nails over the marble countertops.

When she finishes she sighs and throws the phone across the table, settling her head in her hands.

“God, Keiji, don’t look forward to being an adult. There’s nothing good about it.”

She had told him this before.

“Is there a problem with work?”

“There’s always a problem with work,” she says.

“What happened?”

“They’re bringing me in to work Sunday which complicates the trip to meet Kazumi. There’s also talks of cutting back my salary, but that could just be a rumour.”

“Oh,” Keiji says, unsure of how to respond.

“They always do this! God, why _me?”_

She puts her head in her hands again and groans, wiping the lines from her forehead. She sits up again after a moment and regards Keiji.

“Was school okay?” She asks. An afterthought.

“Yeah it was okay, thank you.”

“Sorry about not giving you a lift this morning, Keiji. I’m going to have a word with your father about it.”

“It’s fine! I don’t mind walking,” he says, not wanting to be the root of another argument between his parents.

Then he says, “actually, I was thinking.”

“Yes?” His mother asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“What if I learned to drive myself?”

His mothers eyes steeled, the way they always do when she thinks, locking emotion away in favour of logic. Keiji asks the question with nonchalance but he is wringing his fingers below the table.

“You want lessons?”

“Yes.”

“Your father and I are too busy to teach you. We would need to bring an outside instructor.”

“Oh,” Keiji says. “Okay.”

“Don’t sound so sad,” she sighs. “I’ll talk to your father about getting you lessons.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s fine,” she brushes her hands off on her skirt and stands up. They are both built tall and slim and Keiji knows that looking at her is a reflection of what he should be looking like in the future.

Beautiful, successful, ultimately unhappy.

He forced himself up from the table minutes later, walking into his large, empty bedroom and sitting to work at the desk, rewriting all of his notes from the day so they existed in pristine condition, the corners unbent.

—

It was gone midnight when he remembered to send Bokuto the homework, and he was not expecting a response.

The screen of the phone flashed a moment later.

Keiji peered over.

**From: Bokuto-San**

(〃^∇^)ﾉ thank you akaashi!!!! ur the best :))))

**From: Bokuto-San**

can i call u? (⌒o⌒)

**From: Bokuto-San**

i cant sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep

Keiji couldn’t help but smile to himself in his bedrooms dim light. He brushed his toes back and forth on the wooden floor, clutching the phone with two hands as he typed.

**From: AKAAAAASHI**

It is 12:36 in the morning, Bokuto-San

**From: Bokuto-San**

:((( is that a no????

Akaashi pulled his bottom lip between his lip, contemplating.

**From: Bokuto-San**

pleaaaaaase??? :33 you didnt sleep over u owe me this !!!!!

**From: AKAAAAASHI**

Only if you’re not too loud. I don’t want to wake your siblings or your parents

**From: Bokuto-San**

as if hibiki would let any1 be asleep b4 1

And then a selfie of Bokuto and Akaashi pops up on the screen of his phone. It was taken after a win in one of their practice matches against Nekoma, and Kuroo is barely visible doing fall drills in the top left corner, partially obscured by Bokuto and Akaashi’s beaming, sweaty faces.

His smiles fondly at the memory, and after letting the phone ring exactly four times he picks up.

“Good morning, ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto’s voice rings, crackly through the phone line, the distance palpable through the phones quality compared to Bokutos real and genuine voice. Keiji can still hear the bite of a smile in the words, though.

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” Keiji answers, and it’s difficult to keep the smile out of his words. “It’s a little bit late to be calling, don’t you think?”

“If you had slept over we would have been talking at this time anyway!”

“I disagree. I fall asleep early. I’m not much of a night owl.”

“What are you doing up now, then?”

Keiji grinned into his arm at their playful banter. He pushes himself off of his desk chair to lay on his bed, on his stomach, instead.

“I could go to sleep right now, if you’d rather.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“At 12:43 in the morning?”

“Always.”

Flirting. They were flirting. His chest grows warm.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Anything! Did you get home safely?”

“Well I’m talking to you now, so nothing _that bad_ could have happened.”

“Akaashi-”

“No that was a joke. I was stabbed. I am talking to you from the grave-”

“ _Akaashi!”_

Keiji laughed softly and moved so he was laying on his back instead. He could hear shifting from the other side of the phone, too, and wondered where Bokuto was right now.

Was he laying on his bed, on his back like Keiji? Or maybe on his side, curled into the wall?

Maybe he wasn’t laying down at all, but was instead stood in the small sliver of space between his bed and door, or sat on the windowsill looking out at all the houses below.

“What are you doing right now?” Keiji asks, fixated. Bokuto wouldn’t look into it.

“What do you mean? I’m talking to you.”

“No, I mean how. Are you standing or laying down? Where are you?”

“Oh,” he shifts again and Keiji catalogues the sound. “I’m in my bed under the covers, laying on my side.”

“Facing the wall?”

“No, the other side.”

“Oh, okay.”

Keiji can picture it. Bokuto, curled up on his side and warm under the weight of his blanket, facing the room with his back to the wall, hair down from its spikes and loose against his pillow.

Without thinking Keiji shifts so that he’s laying on his side, too.

“I just wanted to say thank you for the homework! And thank you for coming over today too! Hibiki and Yuna haven’t stopped talking about it-”

Bokuto puts on a child’s voice-

“ _-oh, Akaashi is so cool Koutarou! You should be more like him! He is so nice and likes talking to us, unlike dumb big brother Koutarou.”_

Keiji can’t help but laugh at Bokuto’s childishness. He can hear Bokuto pause for a moment, and then he’s laughing over the phone too.

In the distance Keiji can hear a voice, quiet and hushing, and then Bokuto is whispering over the phone.

“Sorry, I woke my mom up.”

“Bokuto!”

“It’s okay!” He says in hushed tones, and then adds, “it was worth it to make you laugh.”

Keji smiles softly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You should go to bed, Bokuto-san. You’re saying dumb things.”

“Hmmmm maybe,” and Keiji can hear him yawn. “But I want to talk to you.”

“I’m walking tomorrow. You can talk to me then.”

“But that’s so far.”

“Bokuto-San.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Akaaaaaaaaashi.”

“ _Goodnight,”_ He says firmer, but he’s still smiling. “Thank you for calling.”

“Can I call again tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Goodnight ‘Kaashi! I hope you sleep well!”

“Goodnight, Bokuto-San.”

There is a second where they wait to see who will hang up, but Keiji does it a few seconds later, placing his phone neatly onto his nightstand and flicking the dim lamp-light out, letting the cool darkness pool over the room and hide his quickly reddening cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading !! :))


	3. fight or flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i admit that i'm a lil' messed up  
> but i can hide it when i'm all dressed up  
> i'm obsessive and i love too hard  
> good at overthinking with my heart  
> how you even think it got this far?  
>  -needy, ariana grande

“I’m sorry, we’ll be back in just a moment. Sorry, please, just a moment.”

Keiji can hear their Coach Yamiji repeating the phrase over and over again to Coach Nekomata, who was already used to the frequent disruptions to their practice matches by the hand of one Fukurodani Ace.

Keiji wasn't sure there had been an episode this bad in a while, though. Bad enough to put their game on hold.

Bokuto was curled into a ball underneath an errant table in the wings of the hall. He wasn’t facing anyone, and his arms were bound so tightly around himself Keiji was worried he would hurt himself.

His teammates don’t even try to help anymore. Their heads all swivel to eye Keiji automatically, as if like never-failing clockwork, but Keiji is already walking over to the table.

“Bokuto-san,” he says and crouches so his knees are touching the floor. He holds the top of the table with one hand and lightly grazes the floor with his other.

The court is quiet around them, so he can tell Bokuto was ignoring him, as there was no way he couldn't have heard.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji repeats. “Are you okay?”

There's no response again, and Keiji quickly looks over to his teammates (who are not even _trying_ to hide their stares) before shifting to sit cross-legged, effectively blocking Bokuto from the view of everyone else with his back.

Keiji doesn’t ask directly what's wrong, instead gently probing for a response. _Any_ response.

“It can’t be very comfortable under that table, Bokuto-San.”

No response.

“Come out.”

No response.

Keiji sighs, and he shifts, putting his bare knees to the cold linoleum of the floor. He can feel the goosebumps erupting as a result.

“Can I touch you?”

Bokuto remains still for a minute but Keiji watches for the small, almost imperceptible nod of his head.

Keiji deliberates where to put his hand for a moment. Nerves are shooting through him as he maintained a calm facade. 

_Everyone is watching us, and I don’t know what to do in this situation._

_No,_ he tells himself.

Gently he places his hand on the small of Bokuto’s back, using his fingertips to trace small, soothing circles.

Perhaps Bokuto doesn’t need words right now.

Keiji’s mind raced to diagnose the issue so that he could solve it with as little fallout as possible, keenly aware of all the eyes on his back, of the pressure for him to fix Bokuto without fail every time.

_Bokuto has a hundred weaknesses. What triggered this?_

Before he could overthink though, Bokuto uttered out the terrible words.

“Akaashi, I am an awful ace.”

Keiji's mind clicked. 

_Weakness number 5. Bokuto often thinks very little of himself, even if he pretends otherwise._

_Solution: console him. Make him see what you see._

“That makes no sense, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says softly. “You’ve not missed a single toss this whole game.”

“Okay, maybe I’m a good ace,” Bokuto sniffles and Keiji bats down the fond grin, “but I’m a terrible captain.”

“How figures?”

“I just am.”

Bokuto grumbled into his knees, head still turned away. Keiji prodded him with his fingertips.

“I don’t think you’ve done anything to warrant the title of _bad captain_ , Bokuto-san.”

“I _have_ though!”

“Like?”

“It didn’t work!”

Ah. Keiji thought it might be this. He crowds closer to the table.

“I’m the one who said to focus on Watari and the defence, and now we’re three points down to Nekoma, who are the defence _geniuses._ It’s all my fault.”

“Bokuto-san, you tried something and it didn’t work. It happens. It was a good idea, and with practice, it probably _will_ work.”

Bokuto didn’t reply but he was shifting uncomfortably, all pent up energy tunnelling under his skin, searching for release.

_He’s getting antsy. This is a good sign._

“Besides,” Keiji tacked on, “this is a practice match. What better time is there to try something?”

“I guess,” Bokuto grumbled.

“Can you look at me now?” Keiji asked.

Bokuto didn’t react for a minute, but then he turned his head to rest his cheek on his knees, so to face Keiji.

“We’re going to lose if you don’t come out there and fight with us,” Keiji says, and he knows it’s the right move when the corners of Bokuto’s lips twitch.

“Really?”

“We really depend on your cross spikes against Nekoma.”

Bokuto laughs a little and then sniffles into his jersey.

“What should we do, ‘Kaashi? My plan isn’t working.”

Keiji mulls it over in his head.

“I think blocks would be a good thing to try and practice against Nekoma. Total shutouts which can permeate their defence.”

Keiji looks to Bokuto.

“And if it doesn’t work, we can try something else.”

Bokuto's bottom lip juts out, and then he nods his head twice. The enthusiasm isn’t there, but at least some form of Bokuto is recognisable. Keiji can work with unenthusiastic better than he can with unreachable.

“You gonna come out from the table now?”

Bokuto looks to Keiji with wide, trusting eyes. They’re so shiny that Keiji can see himself reflected in the pools of liquid gold.

“Okay.”

Keiji stands back to Bokuto crawl out from underneath the table, and in another uncharacteristic feat, he has the nerve to look guilty. _Embarrassed_.

Usually after an episode Bokuto would just be back to his optimistic, overjoyed self. It was not normal for him to be nervous to return afterwards.

They walked back in the direction of the game, and Keiji ignored all of the rapt attention his teammates' eyes gave them.

“You good now boys?” Coach Yamiji asked them, eyes darting between the pair. Keiji looked to Bokuto to answer.

“Yes coach,” he bowed. “Sorry coach.”

“You have to get these swings under control, Bokuto, if you want to be making Japan.”

“Sorry coach.”

Coach Yamiji scoffed, and smiled, and cuffed Bokuto lightly on the top of the head.

“Okay, we’re ready!” He yelled over to Nekomata, who flashed a thumbs up and sent his players back in.

Fukurodani headed to take their side too, but Yamiji caught Keiji by the shoulder.

Though he didn’t vocalise his thoughts, his eyes said _thank you._

Keiji nodded, but the weight sat in his stomach like cement.

—

“Do you want that?” Bokuto asks at lunch, pointing to Keiji’s sushi, which were the last pieces of his food remaining.

“Do you even like sushi, Bokuto-san?”

“I can’t remember. I haven’t had it for _ages_!”

Keiji left it until last because it was his favourite and he wanted it to be the final taste on his tongue. The one he would remember in an hour.

He sighed. “Take one.”

“Thank you!”

Bokuto reached over and pried one out with surprising delicacy, his fingers not brushing any of the other food as he did. It did not receive the same treatment as it reached his mouth, messily flying around his lips until he wiped it off with the back of his hand, gulfing the food down like a wolf. 

“Mmm! This is good!”

“I know.” Keiji placed one on his tongue, savouring the taste and texture until it fell apart in his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

A feminine voice came from somewhere over their shoulders. Keiji was so preoccupied he hadn’t even noticed the girl approaching.

She looked about his age, with brown hair looped into an intricate plait and gentle bangs sweeping across the plane of her forehead. Her eyes were deep brown and freckles dusted the bridge of her nose.

He recognised her. Ito Chiaki. She sat at the front of his lit club.

“Hi!” Bokuto responded enthusiastically. He cocked his head. “Are you lost?”

She fidgeted, grabbing at her skirt in handfuls, which was when Keiji realised that she had a piece of pink paper clutched close to her chest.

“No, uh,” she looks down. “I was wondering if I could speak to Akaashi-san?”

Bokuto turned to look at him, curious. Keiji’s voice caught in his throat for a moment.

_Shit._

“Okay,” he said out loud and moved to stand up. “Could you watch my bag?”

It was a stupid question. He only asked it because he wanted an excuse to look to Bokuto one last time, as though he was a lamb going to the slaughter rather than a teenage boy on his way to getting confessed to.

“Of course!” Bokuto said, and when Chiaki turned around to lead them to somewhere secluded Bokuto made a _shoo!_ motion with his hands, eyes wide.

Keiji tried to quell his mind from overthinking, but with every step he took after Chiaki the rushing water in his head grew louder and louder.

“Here’s fine,” she said, and when Keiji looked around he realised they stood in the shade of the science building, not _that_ far away from people in hindsight but it was enough to start a thick sheen building on Keiji’s forehead and palms.

_Why has she made us walk so far away from everyone?_

“Yes?” He asked nonchalantly. Better to get this done with.

“Akaashi-san, my name is Ito Chiaki. We’re in the same literature class.”

“I recognise you,” he said. “You get very good grades.”

“Thank you! I work very hard.”

 _Nobody can see us here,_ he thought. _Maybe she’s going to kill you._

She tucked a loose piece of her brown hair behind her ear. She was rather pretty.

“So, Akaashi-san, I just needed to tell you something.”

The thought of her luring him away to kill him magnified on his head until suddenly it was fact. _She has led you here to kill you. These are your last moments, with a random girl behind the science block._

As usual, he was unable to stop his train of thought. _You need to get out of here now,_ his brain commanded. Keiji dug his teeth into his bottom lip in an attempt to remain calm and to force himself to pay attention to Chiaki.

Quickly he clasped his hands behind his back. _One, two, three, four, five,_ he counted his knuckles with his thumb. _One, two, three, four, five,_ he counted again. Over and over.

He was so caught up in it that he was momentarily surprised when she bowed her head to him and thrust the pink paper in his direction.

 _One, two, three, four, five._ He picked at his cuticles. He couldn't see it but he could feel the skin ripping. 

“I know we haven’t talked a great deal but I really admire you! You are so patient and thoughtful, and you are also a skilled athlete. I hope you accept my feelings.”

Keiji looked down at the paper. He didn’t know how to respond.

This girl didn’t know him. Was that a good or a bad thing?

_She’s going to kill you._

_One, two, three, four, five._

After a moment of hesitation, and after Keiji had impolitely and uncharacteristically not responded to her Chiaki raised her head again.

“I don’t expect you to decide now. Please take your time to consider my affections. I’ve attached my phone number to the letter.”

Keiji moved to open the paper on impulse but Chiaki squealed and lunged for it, pressing her dainty hand over his. Her fingers covered his knuckles. They were warm.

“Please read it privately! It’s humiliating.”

“Of course,” he said respectfully and gave a small bow. “Thank you for trusting me with your feelings. I will let you know once I’ve reached my decision.”

Chiaki leaves and Keiji briefly stays, pressing his back to the damp science building wall until it begins to seep through his blazer, tinging the grey material a dark, inky black.

—

_Dear Akaashi Keiji,_

_We do not know each other well, but hopefully in writing this note I am able to change that. I have had feelings for you for a very long time now and I would really like it if we could go on a date to explore this? Perhaps we could see a movie together?_

_I don’t know much about volleyball but I know you are talented. You are smart and kind and really handsome. I hope this letter doesn’t ruin things between us but instead creates an opportunity._

_Please consider my feelings and your response. It would make me endlessly happy if you could accept me._

_I have written my phone number below. Please keep in touch :)_

_Ito Chiaki_

_xxx-xxxxxx-xx_

_—_

_“_ Are you going to call her?” Bokuto asks, laying on his back on top of his duvet and absentmindedly tossing a volleyball into the air.

Keiji only had the time to rush back and grab his bag from Bokuto before the bell chimed, so of course he had been lured back to Bokuto’s bedroom for details.

There wasn’t much room so Keiji sat on the floor with his back to the bed, his head hanging backwards and resting on Bokuto’s blue bedspread. From this angle he could see the gentle curve of Bokuto’s stomach.

“I’m not sure,” Keiji said in response, which was only partially a lie.

“Why not? She’s really pretty!”

“I guess.”

“And she must be smart if she’s in your classes!”

“Yeah.”

Both of them fell silent for a moment. Bokuto stopped throwing the ball, leaving it to gently rest in the palms of his hands.

“Unless… you’re not really interested in her.”

Keiji bit his lip. _Was_ he interested in her? Even though hours had passed since he hadn't particularly considered it. 

He ignored the reason why.

“I mean, she seems…” he searched for a word that wouldn't immediately condemn her, “…nice. I just don’t really know her. We’ve only spoken a handful of times.”

“That’s why she wants to go on a date! She said she wanted to get to know you better, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, what have you got to lose, then?”

Bokuto smiled and moved so he was laying on his side. Everything was so _easy_ for him. Keji could just make out his face, resting on his arms. He went cross-eyed trying to focus on it and Bokuto laughed.

“Yeah, I’ll message her later. Thank you Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto smiled at him.

“Besides, she wants to go see a movie right?” He adds cheekily. “You could get her to go and see Up! with you.”

“I’ve _seen_ Up.”

“You should see it again!” He flops onto his back. “Oh man, I could watch that film _forever.”_

“I know.”

“Has _she_ seen Up?”

“How would I know that?”

“I bet she would like to see Up.”

“You are _insufferable.”_

Bokuto laughed and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His hair followed up after him a second later, like the way animation sometimes lags behind a character, and then he was jumping off the bed and bounding to the doorway.

“I’m going to get Spinner!”

Keiji chuckled as Bokuto disappeared into the hall, and then re-emerged a second later with a small, hard-shelled tortoise caged in between his palms.

“Put your hands out,” Bokuto instructs, and Keiji does.

The tortoise is plopped onto his hands a second later. Keiji raises him until he can look into Spinners eyes, his legs slowly swimming through the air.

“Hello,” he says to the tortoise. It doesn’t say anything back.

That doesn’t stop Bokuto’s eyes from glowing where he rests on his knee’s beside Keiji. He was impossibly easy to please.

“He likes you!”

Keiji cannot tell how Bokuto could possibly discern that, given that Spinner looks identical now as he did when Bokuto placed him into Keiji’s hands. Keiji doesn’t mention this and instead chooses to relish in the praise. Spinners mouth chews the air slowly.

“Good. I like Spinner too.”

Keiji softly sets Spinner in his lap and entertains himself with watching the small creature crawling over his thighs, making its way towards Bokuto, who is cheering him on but lacks the patience and picks Spinner up, placing an eager kiss onto the tortoise's shell. Spinner does not react.

“I can’t wait until I move out,” Bokuto says, changing the topic suddenly to something Keiji definitely didn't want to talk ebout, eyes still fixed on Spinners slow-moving body. His giant window is open and a cool breeze is drifting in, causing his curtains and the tips of his hair to flutter. “I’m going to get a dog and call him Dug.”

“Like in Up?”

“Like in Up!”

“What breed?” Keiji asks. “A golden retriever, like in the film?”

“Hmmm, no. I’d like a sheepdog!”

“A sheepdog,” Keiji is momentarily baffled. “ _Why?_ That's a bit of an obscure choice.”

“I don’t know. They’re big and they’re cuddly! I've always wanted one.”

Keiji watched Bokuto prod the tortoise and imagines a giant sheepdog sitting in his lap instead, its grey and white coat freshly washed and its tongue dragging up Bokuto’s cheek while he laughs and snuggles into it.

“Yeah, I can imagine you with a sheepdog.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s their colouring, I think.”

Bokuto sticks his tongue out at him. Keiji smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received some feedback and so I've changed a few things in accordance !! I am doing as much research as I can and reading lots of personal accounts, but as always please correct me if I've made any mistakes !


	4. ablaze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you take my veil off with your eyes  
> your words a tender disguise  
> that betray away my desires  
> as we touched and get burned by these fires
> 
> \- fires, these your children

As it worked out, everything was _fine_ with Keiji’s moms' job, and even though she was made to work that Sunday it just meant their trip was rescheduled to that Saturday, which meant Keiji had one day less to work on schooling his face into a permanent, neutral scowl.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Bokuto had told him the day before when Keiji was glowering and being uncharacteristically moody. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Coming from you.”

“Exactly!” Bokuto beamed. “I’m an expert! And I'm saying you're being dramatic.”

Keiji rested his chin on his palm, looking out the window at the trees and sky whipping past, reduced to nothing but a gloomy grey blur to Keiji’s eyes. It was drizzling just enough that the window was crested with falling raindrops, fat and wet and sliding _down down down_ to their impending doom. The literature-rotted part of brain pointed out that the pathetic fallacy was remarkable, as the weather seemed to perfectly capture his mood as they drove the hour to see his brother.

Today his father drove them in their shiny Audi Q5 ( _"A family car," his father had remarked when he brought it home, and Keiji's mother rolled her eyes)_ because his mother was texting furiously, accepting a phone call every now and again and filling the car with her clipped business voice. It seemed as though every time his father tried to bridge the silence between them a phone call was accepted and the car would go quiet once again.

“This is meant to be a day out, Fuyuko, could you please leave the phone for emergencies?” His father tries, eyes steely on the road. The anger is plainly obvious even though he disguises it as a question.

He nudges the indicator and merges left, the cars around slowing. Keiji watches with feigned disinterest.

“Work _is_ an emergency. What do you think would happen if I didn’t take these calls, Rin?”

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “It’s just- work seems to be the only thing on any of our minds.”

“The world wouldn’t work any other way.”

His dads gaze flicks to the top mirror and then the left. He hits the indicator again, and his right-hand goes to switch the gears. From three to two, to one.

If Keiji focuses he can imagine that this is his dad teaching him to drive.

 _You gotta go around the tight corners in first gear, son,_ his dad explains to him in the back of his head, _or else you could run into the curb. Second gear for most other corners though. Yeah, that's right! Good job Keiji, you nailed that one!_

He almost preens at the false praise, he is so starved for it. The information from a google search read in his dad's voice left him wanting.

His dad thumbs the radio dial and turns on some soft-rock station. He doesn’t know all the words so he hums along softly, tapping his fingers along the top of the wheel. His mother side-eyes him and her lip curls.

“How long until we’re there?” Keiji asks. His phone only had 18% battery left. He eyed the last notification from Bokuto, which was an answer to his turn at the knock off scrabble game they were playing. Keiji was winning by a mile and he didn't want the game to end before he could snatch victory.

**_Bokuto has played: poodle (9 points)_ **

Keiji eyed the blanks on the board and swiped his tiles to fit.

**_Akaashi has played: ablaze (31 points)_ **

“Not long now. Fifteen minutes, maybe?”

“It’s an odd thought, isn’t it Rin? Just a year ago he was under our supervision, and now he’s got his own place and his own job- time really flies.”

“That’ll be you soon, too, Keiji.”

**_Bokuto has played: rope (6 points)_ **

Keiji smiles.

—

His phone is dead by the time they reach his brothers apartment and the first goal he has is to find the nearest charger, because the only thing he can think of that might be worse than being trapped alone with his family in the confines of his brother's humble abode is death, and even that might be a contender in these specific circumstances.

The apartment is in a nice area, and they have to cross a pretty courtyard filled with flowers and white iron benches to reach the double-screen doors leading to the foyer, which Keiji can see is white marble through the window. The flowers and outside greenery is reflected in the cool glass, contrasting the white-tile _everything_ and turning it into a beautiful watercolour landscape. Even if he didn't intimately know the pricetag that came with living here he would know that it didn't come cheap- it reeked of daddy's-money aristocracy.

He stands in between his parents as his mother presses the buzzer, waiting for Kazumi to buzz them in. It comes a second later and they climb the two flights of stairs to arrive at his door: _32c._

Less than a second later the door is opened, and Akaashi Kazumi stares back at them.

The Akaashi family are not huggers, so his parents do the adult thing where they press air-kisses next to each other's cheeks, swapping sides quickly to catch both of Kazumi's jaw as he smiles, and Keiji does the thing that happens when you don’t like the person in question where you raise your eyebrows and nod slightly before looking immediately in the other direction, hands thrust deep in your pocket the whole while.

“Mom, dad, it’s been a while,” Kazumi laughs, brushing the back of his neck with his fingertips. His hair is growing long and the edges on his nape curl around his fingers like paper. “Come in!”

The three of them are bustled inside and the door closes behind them.

Keiji had visited Kazumi a few mandatory times with his family to his new apartment and it had changed minimally since their last visit. The white kitchen was immaculate, and every room seemed to sport the same glass light-fixture, which dangled like a miniature chandelier and refracted warm yellow light across every inch of the walls. The sofas are speckled grey and all the floors are hardwood, and their open living-room rosters a thrown-open balcony overlooking the communal gardens, filled with hydrangeas and carnations and hibiscus, reflected in the large flatscreen TV lined opposite the sofas and making the colourless livingroom look full of growing life.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Kazumi says and gestures to the sofas in front of them, lifting the boxed gifts of cutlery and expensive sculptures from his mother's arms and placing them on the unnecessarily-large dining table.

“Do you have a charger I can borrow?” Keiji asks, eyeing his brother up and down.

Kazumi is wearing well-fitted jeans and a button-up rolled to the elbows, feet bare, an outfit Keiji had been gifted every Christmas by his parents for the last four years. His hair and his eyes and jaw are Keiji’s mirror, but the way he carries himself isn’t. He looks more confident. More comfortable in his freckled, tan skin.

“Yeah, it’s just behind the sofa there. Want me to plug it in?”

“No it’s fine. I’ll find it.”

“Are you still seeing that girl, Kazumi? I liked her,” his father says.

Kazumi laughs. “Arisu? Yes, I am. She’s out on a conference board right now.”

"Oh, that's so impressive! What is she going into, again? Economics."

"Politics."

"Incredible!" His mother fawns. "She's a keeper, all right. Promise us grandkids!"

His parents fill the silence with excited chatter, sparing more words for Kazumi in the few hours they're all together than they had given Keiji in the last year. Keiji stares at the doors to the balcony. He imagines throwing them open, jumping off of the balcony and plummeting to his death. He imagines it vividly, repeatedly, until he can’t hear his parents words anymore over the noise of his neck-snapping, of the blood gushing, his heart desperately trying to pump it around to his mutilated joints.

 _You wouldn’t die from this height,_ he tells himself. _It’s only the third floor. You’d probably just get really, really hurt._

Keiji starts to count his knuckles. _One, two, three, four, five._

_—_

Eleven. That was how old Keiji was when his parents began suspecting something was wrong.

His mother clutched his hand as they walked into the pristine, white office of Dr. Hoshimura. Keiji couldn’t remember much other than that both of his parents couldn't afford to take the day off from work and there was nobody at home to look after Kazumi, so he had to come too, and the two boys had shared a chair in front of the doctor's desk.

“Hello Keiji,” the doctor said to him, and he blinked at her with wide, owlish eyes, picking at the baby skin around his fingers obsessively.

“So, _mommy_ ,” the doctor said to his mom. Her hands were scribbling down fast notes before anything had even been said. “It’s my understanding that the school has picked up on some… distress signs from your son, Keiji. Could you run me through some of the worrying behaviours he’s been exhibiting? Both at home and in an open environment.”

“Yes, of course,” his mother replied, sheepish. She was dressed impeccably, he remembered, and in hindsight Keiji realised he was the tarnish to his mother's perfect facade. He still was. “He’s got into a sort of… routine lately, I think you would put it.”

“Elaborate?”

“Yes. Every morning he puts on his uniform in the exact same order, which of course isn’t much of an issue, it's just a preference, but last week I was washing his tie before school. I told him we could put it on before we left the house, because it was wet and it wouldn’t be ready before then, and he threw a tantrum.”

“A tantrum?” The doctor looked over her glasses at his mother, one of her overplucked eyebrows arched. Keiji looked down, embarrassed. Kazumi looked around, bored.

“Yes,” his mother jumped in, also sounding embarrassed. “I mean, I don’t particularly think that has anything to do with his, uh, _diagnosis,_ but more just him being a _boy._ You know how they get. But still, I think its a bit abnormal.”

Abnormal. Keiji didn't know what that word meant.

The doctor brushed this off and flipped through her notepad, leafing through different pages with her thumb until she reached the page she was searching for and set it down on her desk. Keiji watched her with curious eyes and folded tighter into his mother's side. She smoothed his hair with her fingernails.

“The school tells me routine is very key for him. ' _At lunchtime he follows the same routine every single day: stand up, put his work away into his book bag. Sit down, for no apparent reason. Count to ten. Stand up again, put on his coat. He will wash his hands four times in a row, for twenty seconds each, which he counts out loud. Then he can go for lunch. If anybody talks to him in this time he pulls his work back out of his bag and starts from the beginning.”_

“Ah, yes…” his mom said. She rubbed a hand on the back of her neck. “They told me a similar thing.”

“Does anything like this happen at home? To your knowledge?”

“Every day before leaving for school he checks all the windows are locked, starting from my bedroom and working clockwise, I think, around the house. Even if I’ve told them I’ve checked already he does it.”

“Interesting,” the doctor jots down. When she looks down it looks like her eyes have disappeared into her nose. Keiji tells Kazumi this and they laugh until their mother swats them both for being rude.

“Keiji, do you think you can tell me why you do these things?” The doctor asked him directly. Keiji was nervous under her gaze.

He had always been shy, always been quiet. It was likely why this had slipped under his mother's radar, and also why this _abnormal_ behaviour was likely noticed by the school in the first place.

“I don’t know,” he said and shrugged meekly. “I just have to.”

“What will happen if you _don’t_ do these things, then?” The doctor presses. “If you didn’t check the windows every morning what would happen?”

“Something bad.”

“I see,” she jots it down on her notepad. Keiji wonders if he said the wrong thing, the mantra now repeating in his head. _That was wrong that was wrong that was wrong._ “Thank you for talking to me Keiji.”

She set the notepad back down and stretched out her arms.

"I think, Mrs. Akaashi, that the schools' assumption could be correct in that Keiji may have some form of O.C.D- obsessive-compulsive disorder.”

“I don’t understand.” Her tone was crisp. “Keiji doesn’t- O.C.D. is to do with _cleaning_ and _germs._ He doesn’t have any issues with that. He just takes a while to get ready in the morning."

“It is a common misconception that all people with O.C.D. have obsessions revolving around cleaning, and while that may be true for many it is not always the case. It is just obsession around specific tasks: with spikes of anxiety if they are not performed and relief if they are. Keiji’s anxieties could be centred around home invasions or being harmed, or maybe he thinks something bad will happen if he doesn’t perform them. It is not always entirely logical.”

Keiji stares at the doctor.

“I see,” his mother says, cold.

“This is not an official diagnosis, but I think it’s safe to say it’s _likely_ something is there." She taps her pen on the desk a few times. Keiji's eyes follow the movement. "I’m going to refer Keiji to a pediatric who specialises in this field and can run some evaluative tests on Keiji, and we can see where it goes from there.

The diagnosis process is not a short one,” she says, honest, “but taking the proper steps is mandatory in ensuring Keiji is well equipped to deal with the problems that may surface as a result of this condition.”

“I see,” his mother repeats and moves to stand. She lets go of Keiji’s hand to brush lint from her pencil skirt. “How soon will we be seeing this referral?”

“Hopefully I can have it set up for the next coming weeks. The wait-list is constantly increasing, though, so you may be looking at up to six months.”

“Six months?” She asks, outraged, and suddenly the conversation tone has shifted. “And how are we meant to cope with this until then?”

“It seems like your son has already figured out how to cope with this in his own way. My advice is to take his lead in this situation- don’t try to force him out of these routine habits or you could risk the fallout being much worse.”

His mother bites her lip and sighs, running the back of her hand over her forehead. Her ponytail swings loosely behind her.

“Okay,” she groans. “Okay. It is what it is.”

An overly-showy smile plasters its way onto her face. Keiji can tell his mother is about to cry. The doctor moves to hold the door open as they leave.

Keiji holds onto his brother's sleeve as they walk out of the office. together.

“Bye-bye Keiji,” the doctor waves as he walks back down the hall. “I’ll see you soon.”

—

“Bokuto-san, you can’t call me every night.”

“I’m _not,”_ his tinny voice protested. “Just the last four.”

“And every night for the foreseeable future.”

“Exactly!”

Keiji had to stop himself rolling his eyes at Bokuto’s antics, because he was divulging in the circumstances, really. Calls from Bokuto were by no means far and few between usually, but to expect them nightly bought butterflies to Keiji’s stomach.

“Well, you need to sleep at some point. Staying up late can’t be doing you much good.”

“You’re staying up late too,” Bokuto pointed out, voice edging on whining.

“I don’t have little siblings I might wake up.”

“Hey, hey! They wake _me_ up screaming in the middle of the night! This is just revenge if you look at it like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

He can picture Bokuto’s pleased smile and it makes him smile too. He taps his fingers on his desk, contemplating whether to turn his lamp off or not. He decides on leaving it on, preferring not to let his mind wander while alone with Bokuto’s voice in the dark.

“How was visiting your brother? It wasn’t as bad as you thought, right?”

Keiji sighed.

“He was alright. The same. His place is pretty nice.”

“I still don’t know why you don’t like him. You don’t not-like anyone!”

“That’s a lie.”

“You don’t like some people?”

“Obviously.”

There’s a pause. Keiji can hear the whirring of the cogs in Bokuto’s head through the phone. “Do you not-like me?”

Keiji sighs. “Would I be on the phone to you at nearly one in the morning if I didn’t like you, Bokuto-san?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Keiji pushes back in the desk chair. Debates going to lay on his bed but decides against it, worried he would fall asleep.

“I don’t not-like you Bokuto-san.”

“Oh,” he pauses. “Okay!”

“We’re getting off track.”

“Oh yeah! Well, Kazumi seemed nice to me, at least.”

“You didn’t know him.”

“I met him once!”

“ _Exactly,”_ Keiji picked up a pencil from his desk and started spinning it between his thumb and forefinger. "Once."

“What does that mean?”

Keiji sighed. He dropped the pencil and stared at it for a second, biting back racing thoughts before picking it up and putting it back in the pot. “It doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

“Is everything okay, ‘Kaashi?”

Bokuto’s voice was softer with the midnight hour, his consonants rounded out and vowels elongated. He sounded perpetually mid-yawn. It amplified his concern and begged for honesty from Keiji like a magnet begs for iron.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” There’s a pause for a moment, as though Bokuto is thinking through his words, which is a rarity enough for Bokuto that Keiji realises how much he must be concerning him. “You seem a little… off recently.”

Keiji contemplates telling him everything. It would be so easy to do it here where he can’t see Bokuto’s face or expression, where he could hang up immediately afterwards so Bokuto doesn’t have time to respond.

It would be a cowards move, sure, but an appealing one. Running away was a sport Keiji was proficient in.

But when he tries to push the words out of his mouth they fizzle and die on his tongue. Admitting it in his head is one thing. Saying the words out loud is an entirely different game.

“Nothing is wrong, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says, and he can feel the disappointment radiating from Bokuto through the phone. There is a wildfire burning in his chest, singing his throat and his lungs and his tongue and wherever it can reach, spreading further and further the longer his mouth is open. If he didn't say anything soon he would be burnt from the inside-out. But Keiji could withstand the heat for now. He had been surviving it for years. “Everything is fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I do not know the exact process of being diagnosed with OCD so I based it off of my brothers process of being diagnosed with Autism)
> 
> ((thank you for reading i love you))


	5. overflow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you're playing ring around my head  
> i wear you like a halo  
> you're a symphony, i'm just a sour note  
> i'll take what i can get  
> the best is hard to grip when everybody wants you  
>  -stupid for you, waterparks

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh my god, it’s not _hard_ Akaashi.”

“It’s been days. Maybe she hates me now.”

“She doesn’t hate you! Just message her.”

“I don’t know how-”

“Oh, give it here!”

Bokuto snatches Keiji’s phone from between his fingers, cutting short the cycle of writing and deleting and re-writing opening texts to Chiaki, trying to start some sort of conversation that would hopefully lead to the two of them going on a date.

Was he hoping for that?

“What are you typing?” Keiji asks as Bokuto's fingers dart back and forth on the screen, because even though he trusts Bokuto a great deal he is not entirely stupid and the idea of Bokuto messaging a girl under the pretence of being Keiji was incredibly nerve-wracking, especially given their very different personalities and, likely, different ideas on the correct way to court somebody. Keiji _cringed_ imagining the string of emojis that would follow the message if he didn't supervise it.

Luckily though Bokuto is not the brightest, so even though he clutches Keiji’s phone out of reach to his chest in an attempt to hide it he reads the words out loud while he types them.

“ _Hello…Chiaki… it is me… Akaashi Keiji!”_

“Do not put an exclamation mark.”

“But then you sound unhappy!”

“I _never_ use exclamation marks.”

“ _It is me… Akaashi Keiji… frowny face.”_

“Bokuto-san!”

Bokuto giggles.

“ _How…is…your…day…going… question mark._ Good?”

He directs the last part at Keiji, who is staring grumpily. Bokuto pouts, and Keiji sighs and nods.

There is a _whoosh._ “Okay, it’s sent!”

Keiji flops onto Bokuto’s bed, smothering his face in the pillows. Maybe if he thought about it hard enough he could drown himself in them, and then he would never have to deal with the repurcussions of this scenario, and Bokuto’s scent would linger on his skin from the bed and follow him into the afterlife.

There was a heavy sigh of breathand Keiji could feel the springs of the bed bounce slightly, rocking him up and down and up and down. He tilts his head just enough to see Bokuto laying next to him, warm and only inches away.

“Now what?” Keiji asks. Bokuto grins.

“Now we wait!”

Up this close Keiji could see the faint freckles on Bokuto’s nose, the small offset ridge where it looks as though Bokuto may have broken it. It definitely wouldn't be out of character. Keiji can only imagine the wild childhood Bokuto must have led, climbing trees and jumping fences, playing with screaming siblings and, no doubt, an abundance of friends. His skin was well-lived in. 

“How did you get that?” Keiji asks, and motions to a slight pale scar protruding from his hairline, almost completely invisible to the naked eye. If it fell into one of the white stretches of Bokuto's hair and not one of the black one Keiji may never have noticed it.

“Oh, this?” Bokuto’s hand flies to it and rubs. “My older sister Kumiko and I were playing when we were little and _she_ wanted to play with stretch-armstrong, but _I_ wanted stretch-armstrong, so she threw a barbie at my head.”

“Oh,” Keiji says with a surprised laugh. “I was expecting something darker.”

“I can make up a darker story if you want!”

Bokuto suddenly puts on a deep voice.

“I was at school when suddenly, _BAM!_ A knife was pulled on me!”

Keiji laughs and pushes him.

“Oh my god _stop.”_

“I barely survived!”

A _bzzzzt_ sounds from the sliver of space between them. Both of them snatch for Keiji’s fallen phone. Bokuto grabs it first.

“She’s replied!” He exclaims and passes it to Keiji, as if it could have been anyone else. There was only one person Keiji messaged regularly, and he could see said-persons phone resting on the windowsill.

Keiji reads the message reluctantly, his eyes skimming and absorbing the words.

“Well?” Bokuto prods. “What did she say?”

Keiji clears his throat.

“ _Hello, Akaashi-san! My day has been good, thank you! And yours? Have you thought about my confession at all?”_

Bokuto bites his lip and stares at Keiji, seemingly less enthusiastic than he was twenty seconds ago. Keiji can see him running mental calculations.

“What do I say?” Keiji asks, looking to him earnestly.

Bokuto’s eyes widen and glance away, caught on one of the giant volleyball posters (Japan's last win at the Olympics. It is bright red against the rest of the rooms baby-blue) before catching back on Keiji’s.

“I don’t know, ‘Kaashi. You tell her how you _feel_.”

How he feels. Keiji hadn’t thought about that. Following Bokuto’s lead was easy, but thinking for himself was much more difficult.

He stared blankly at the phone for a minute, thumbs darting as if to type something and then pulling back when he realised _I have no idea what I’m doing._

Keiji sighed and dropped the phone altogether, pushing his face back into his arms on the pillow of Bokuto’s bed.

“Hey, what’s that for?” Bokuto asks, poking his side and Keiji releases a deeply suffocating groan.

“This is too hard.”

Bokuto sighs and Keiji can _hear_ the pout as he collapses beside him, curled on his side so his knees are just slightly brushing Keiji’s thighs.

“Talking to someone you like shouldn’t be hard,” Bokuto says, suddenly filled with a deep wisdom o the subject, talking the way a grandfather would to a child. “It should come natural. Words are easy.”

Keiji mumbles something into the pillow which Bokuto doesn’t catch, and so Bokuto picks up Keiji’s discarded phone and types in the passcode (all the numbers down the middle row. Bokuto already knew this.)

He can hear the clicking of the keyboard at his thumbs as Bokuto types something but Keiji doesn’t care enough to ask what it is, trusting that Bokuto wouldn’t say anything outrageous and humiliate him. Instead he just breathes in and out. Bokuto had slept right here the night before, probably curled up on his side into the Keiji was now pressing his face into. This was where Bokuto felt most comfortable. The entire room smelled like him. The thought was comforting.

Another _whoosh_ echoes as the message is sent and the phone is dropped back between their bodies on the bed, and Bokuto is curling onto his side and his knees are back to pressing into Keiji’s thigh, and it's as if there is his own personal sun warming his body from the inside out, heating him so that the only thing he can think about is how clammy his palms would be if Bokuto was to touch them, how dry his tongue would be if Bokuto were to kiss him, all radiating from the point where he and Bokuto touch.

—

Keiji’s mother is home before him, and after he removes his shoes and pads to the dining room he can see her sitting at the table, phone clutched in her hand and moving away as if she had just got off of it. 

“Kazumi isn’t picking up,” she says, exasperated. She rolls her eyes and clicks her nails on the counter. When Keiji walks in she tilts her head to level him. “Have you seen where I put my nice coat, the cashmere one? I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Has it been washed recently? Maybe it’s still in the laundry room,” Keiji says as she raises the phone to her ear once again, moving into the kitchen to fill himself a glass of water. He opens the cabinet and pulls out his favourite glass, which is a tacky Christmas piece they had gotten the year before as a gift and that his parents had neglected to throw out, even though they despised it, and so was added to their unnecessarily large and ever-expanding collection of things that they have but they don’t actually need. “Why are you calling Kazumi?”

“He left his licence here last night, _god how hard is it to pick up?”_

Keiji can hear the still ringing phone clatter to the table, no doubt thrown by his mother at the build of impatience and lack of response. His brother had come over last night in a spur-of-the-moment trip after acing one of his final university exams, bringing with him copious amounts of alcohol and getting his parents thoroughly inebriated on a work night. Their racket troubled Keiji greatly which resulted in him isolating away in his bedroom, not wanting to be close to either the noise or his brother or, he realised, his parents.

And then Keiji realises the implications of his mother's sentence.

“I didn't know Kazumi could drive.” He says, evenly, watching the water filling the glass with intent eyes. The happy snowman on the side of the glass says _Let it snow!_

“Yes? We bought him a car for his nineteenth, Keiji.”

There hadn't been a car in the driveway last night.

“Right,” Keiji says, and he knows that his mother can hear his faltering voice. He is nowhere near as good at hiding his feelings the way _she_ is.

The water rises and rises in the glass, and just as it is about to overflow over the lip Keiji switches the tap off, but it doesn’t stop the one droplet which flows over the side of the glass, _down down the drain_ Keiji’s eyes follow.

“Don’t do this Keiji,” his mother sounds impatient.

He hears the click of her heels on the hardwood floor until she’s rounded the corner to the kitchen, where Keiji turns to face her. 

“You taught him?”

Her phone is at her ear, ringing. “What’s to say we didn’t buy him lessons?”

“Did you?”

He expects her to sound guilty but she doesn’t. “No.”

For a split second Keiji doesn’t know what the emotion welling in his throat is; whether it is a bubbling, boiling rage threatening to spill over like the water in his favourite snowman glass or if it is the telltale sign that the tears are about to start, and that they won’t be able to stop for a long time. He was _not_ a crier. He would not cry.

Even though he is feeling both immeasurable amounts of rage and upset the overwhelming emotion is numb nothingness.  


That's what he inherited from his mother: not her high cheekbones or her glassy, slanted eyes, but her inherent coldness. Both of them had the uncanny ability to withdraw their human qualities and recede into rock. Keiji hated that part of him every single day.

She’s blocking the doorway. He tries to push past her, ignoring her harsh words, but she grabs his arm. He moves to snatch it from her grip but she holds it firm, nails pressing crescents into his supple skin.

“Don’t be like this Keiji. It’s got _nothing_ to do with _that_.”

“What’s it to do with then? Why him and not me?"

She pauses and Keiji stares her down, and this time when he snatches his arm she lets him.

He thought so. It would always be about this.

“Keiji.”

Her voice is stern, demanding him to obey. Keiji ignores it, slipping his shoes on and slamming the front door behind him.

—

Somehow, in the changing room after morning practice as they were all in the process of putting on blazers and shirts and ties and getting ready to rush to morning lessons, they had decided that a team hangout was necessary and, under Bokuto’s captaining, _mandatory._ There was an elbow in his ribs as Keiji pulled on his shirt.

“Akaashi you have a big house right? You could host,” Konoha grinned.

“I’m not hosting.” Team hangouts were too big and too boistrous.

“Akaashi what’s happened to your fingers?” Bokuto frowned.

Keiji quickly buttoned his shirt to turn his fingers into a blur.

“Nothing.”

“Sarukui?”

“No,” he laughed. “You couldn’t pay me to deal with that cleanup.”

A beat passes. They wait expectantly.

“I can host,” Komi sighed. “But that means you guys are buying the food.”

“Alright!”

Bokuto clapped, giddy.

“Is this Saturday good?” Komi asks, tying the laces of his shoes as he talks. The other boys are in various states of excitement around the changing room, hitting each other with socks and discussing whether they want _cool ranch_ Doritos or _flamin’ hot._ Keiji himself was not immune to the excitement as Konoha ribbed him again. “My sisters out this weekend, and there’s no practice Sunday.”

They all exclaim their assent in different degrees of enthusiasm. Keiji settles with a nod and _yes, I’m available, thank you,_ but there's a laugh in his voice as he says it. As long as he is home by a reasonable time everything should be fine.

Gradually everyone began to shuffle out of the changing room, chattering amongst themselves about dogs and school and Saturday, groaning about the start of lessons and excited about practice later. He catches the tail-end of a conversation about _how long do you think until Bokuto..._ but it trails off before Keiji can hear the end.

Keiji fits his volleyball uniform and sports bag in his locker and gently slammed it shut, rotating the key and turning as to head out of the changing room, but a broad figure blocks his way. He sees Bokuto’s face only inches away from his own. The blood rushes before he can stop it.

“Bokuto-san?” He asks, his hands tightly gripping the strap of his bag.

Bokuto blinked and took a measured step backwards, until the back of his knees hit the bench in the room's centre. He looked morose, a complete contrast to how happy he looked ten seconds ago when everybody was in the room, unveiling his true emotions to Keiji and Keiji alone.

“Sit,” Bokuto said, and both unused to the rare occasions where Bokuto is serious with him and unable to ever say no to Bokuto, he did, cautiously lowering himself onto the cool bench and watching Bokuto root around in his locker, emerging a second later with something in his hands.

“A first aid kit?”

“For your fingers.”

Bokuto pulled out a selection of band-aids. The upset expression cleared and Bokuto was smiling once again, though Keiji couldn't tell just how much of it was genuine.

“Would you prefer Hello Kitty or plain?”

Keiji resisted the urge to roll his eyes and gave an amused shot of his eyebrows instead. “Plain, please.”

“Suit yourself,” Bokuto said and tucked the grinning pink-and-teal cat plasters back into the kit. “More kitty ones for me.”

He motioned for Keiji to give him his hands, now crouched onto the floor, and he did, which was when Keiji realised just how bad the damage really was.

Last nights argument with his mother had filled him with overwhelming anxiety, the type of which he hadn't experienced in a good while. Home was his safe place, but Keiji almost couldn't bear to go back to it last night knowing his mother was roaming the halls, that she could raise his voice at him any minute and it would be the final shove to make him fall apart.

Keiji could see the bloody state of his fingertips, the skin around his nails torn nearly clean off with his habitual picking of them. Sure they were bad but he thought they were bearable, but after an hour of tossing volleyballs repeatedly, receiving them and spiking them and constantly putting pressure on them, it seemed they had started to bleed again. In his rush to button his shirt he hadn't noticed that there was a streak of blood spotting the white cotton.

“You need to take care of your hands, Akaashi.”

A flood of shame washed over him. Being judged by Bokuto was one thing, but the idea of disappointing him hurt something deep. He clamoured to reassure.

“My tosses won’t be affected, Bokuto-san. Don’t worry.”

“I know. I’m not worried about your _tosses,_ I’m worried about _you.”_

Keiji bit gently into his tongue. His heart was beating rapidly. He stayed silent, fearing what words would tumble out if he unlocked his jaw.

“Does it hurt?”

Keiji contemplated. Bokuto was still not looking at him, eyes focused on where he was wrapping band-aids around Keiji's fingers with a level of care he was surprised by. He didn’t bother telling Bokuto he could do it himself even though they both knew he definitely could, and that the small points of contact between them were entirely unnecessary.

“A bit, yeah.”

Bokuto sighed and finished the last band-aid on Keiji’s pinky finger. Then, entirely unprecedented, he rested his elbows on Keiji’s spread legs and balanced his cheek on one arm, gazing up at Keiji.

“Akaashi, what’s wrong?”

The bluntness of the question caught him off guard. He and Bokuto didn’t tend to talk about serious things, and Bokuto’s eyes looked genuinely concerned.

The position wasn't helping Keiji think straight, either. All he was aware of was the distant gratefulness that he was back to wearing his Fukurodani uniform and not his volleyball one, because if Bokuto had done this when he was wearing his shorts then their skin would be touching directly and Keiji would have died instantly on the spot.

“Nothing’s wrong Bokuto-san.”

"But-"

"Bokuto-san."

“Why don’t you want to talk to me?”

Bokuto looked genuinely hurt. He left his arms resting on Keiji’s legs but pulled his head back.

“It’s not that-”

“Why did you do this to your fingers?”

He wasn’t accusing Keiji but the words embarrassed him, _horrified_ him, so he clenched his hands into fists to push the bandages out of sight. It _hurt._

“Were you nervous over something?” Bokuto pushed back off of Keiji entirely so he could use his hands, gesturing to show his emotions as he always did. “I _understand_ that Keiji! I of all people know about that! Please talk to me.”

For a second he considered it. He could tell Bokuto everything right now if he really, really wanted to. He bit into his tongue.

“We’re going to be late to lesson.”

Keiji wasn’t sure what reaction he wanted, but as he left Bokuto kneeling on the floor he realised no outcome would have made him happy. Liquid guilt haunts him.


	6. a study of objectivity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you said you felt lost when you were found out  
> the death of our hands on your couch  
> was the birth of discovery  
> that someone elses hands  
> could feel cold
> 
> -hands, flatsound

“Akaashi-san!”

Keiji looked up from his phone, scanning the herds of people and cars littering the sidewalk to search for the direction of the voice. Why had they agreed to meet in such a busy place? He could feel the nerves building in his chest already, though they unwound when he caught a glimpse of the brown hair swaying in the distance, her arm high and waving him over. He waved politely back.

Chiaki was dressed beautifully, wearing a flowy mint-green dress dotted with small white daisies, large chunky cardigan thrown over the top and earbuds dangling from one ear, as though she had been listening to music but removed one when she saw Keiji. He smiled at the thought. _She’s polite._ She continued to wave until she was sure he had seen her, weaving through the crowds of people until she was directly before Keiji.

“Hello Akaashi-san! God, I worried I came to the wrong place for a second there!”

Keiji pushed a smile onto his face.

“Hello Chiaki.” What did he say next? He hadn’t done this in so long.“You look lovely today.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Thank you! So do you.”

She pushed a lock of her brown hair behind her ear, smiling. She must have curled it in the morning because it furled into her face, like leaf to a warm lamp. Keiji could feel nerves twitching in his hands so he shoved them deep into his coat pockets.

“Thank you. Shall we go inside?”

Thinking the theatre would be any less hectic than the bustling streets was a mistake. Keiji once again questioned why he thought this would be a good idea. Couples and families formed large queues in front of the ticket booths, dropping popcorn over the floors as hurried employees swept away after them. The constant flow of people ebbed, expanding to the shape of the room around them: if the streets were the ocean then the theatre was a rushing, concentrated steam. Chiaki tapped his arm.

“Sorry, would you mind if I ran to the bathroom quickly?” Chiaki asked him as Keiji’s eyes tracked to her. He quickly shook his head.

“No, go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Chiaki wove her way through the crowd and Keiji stood alone. Already he could feel the formality and awkwardness festering like mold. He knew it was due to him but he found it impossible to stop.

Why was he here?

He wasn’t fooling himself.

But Bokuto had been so excited for Keiji to go out with Chiaki. He had to enjoy this- for Bokuto.

He pulled the phone from his pocket, content to scroll through social media while he waited for Chiaki to return. Opening Instagram he saw Washio had posted a selfie with his girlfriend and Keiji was caught on it for a moment, then liked it and continued scrolling.

Chiaki smiles at him when she returns, brushing down the front of her dress with her fingertips (which Keiji notes are painted green to match her dress).

“Thank you for waiting- should we pick a movie?”

“Yeah. Is there anything in particular you wanted to watch?”

For all his awkwardness, Chiaki seemed to not notice, or to not pay it much mind, effortlessly filling the gaps Keiji left in conversation.

“Um, not in particular! You?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” she smiles, problem solving. “Well lets see what’s screening next and we can pick one of those!”

“Sounds good.”

Their choices were: a horror movie about a group of priests trying to exorcise a demon, an action movie about giant robots fighting giant aliens, or a chick-flick about a woman who makes a wish as a teenager and wakes up aged thirty.

“You can call me basic if you want but I honestly really want to watch that last one,” Chiaki admits, laughing. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “We don’t have to, though. I know that’s probably not your kind of movie.”

She was right- it wasn’t. But he shook his head and smiled anyway.

“It sounds better than aliens fighting robots.”

She laughed.

They moved to buy snacks, but when Keiji is asked how much popcorn they wanted Chiaki interrupted.

“One.”

Keiji turned to her. “Do you not want one?”

She looked sheepish. “I thought we could share.”

Keiji blinked, and nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

Chiaki smiled. Keiji paid for the snacks and they go to buy their tickets. Keiji pulls out his card to pay, but Chiaki swipes hers first.

“I would have paid-” Keiji tries, but she interrupts.

“You bought the food. It’s only fair.”

Keiji wanted to argue but she beamed at him, and they walked into the dark theatre together.

Keiji had only been to the theatre a handful of times in his life, and certainly not on a date before, so nervous energy was pooling in the base of his stomach at the thought of sitting there for two hours unsure of what to expect and no definitive escape from it all. The reality, however, was a lot more underwhelming than he could have ever anticipated.

They just watched the movie. Nothing groundbreaking happened. Just two people, watching a movie.

It wasn’t the best movie Keiji had ever watched but Chiaki seemed to like it enough, and he laughed at the right moments. Their hands brushed in the popcorn like people do in the movies, but Keiji pulled back immediately when Chiaki tried to tangle their fingers and she didn’t try again.

Keiji had a good time.

Objectively, Chiaki was perfect. She was polite and outgoing, and pretty and smart and funny. She didn’t pressure him into anything, and she was kind to him. If he bought her home to his parents they would no doubt love her. There was nothing more Keiji could have asked from her.

But could he picture a life with her? In ten, twenty years from now, would Keiji still like the things he likes about her now- her objective prettiness, her manners? They would have three perfect children together and then what? Would Keiji feel the same detachment from them as he did to Chiaki? Would he be as shitty of a parent as his own parents are?

His brain said, _yes, pick her. You could fall for her if you tried hard enough._ His heart rioted.

Either way, he would be hurt by the choices.

He was more upset by the realisation than he thought he would be. The entire world crashed around him like a shitty theatre backdrop. If he couldn’t love Chiaki, _objectively perfect Chiaki,_ how could he ever love anyone?

He didn’t want love anymore. He wanted to go home and curl up in his bed and cry.

—

If all the lights in the house had been turned off he wouldn’t have knocked. If there lights were off he would have turned and gone back home: that was the condition Keiji gave himself in an attempt to control the one obsessive thought ringing around his head, over and over and over again on loop.

But walking up the familiar driveway Keiji could see one single light in the house, lighting up the living room curtains from the inside, giving the marigolds in the front garden and the red-brick glow.

Biting down his tongue, he stomached his nerves and knocked.

“Akaashi?”

“Bokuto-san.”

Keiji bowed slightly. Bokuto’s mother looked back at him with a tired expression, hair tied in a haphazard knot atop her head and oversized pyjamas ill-fitting around her shoulders. There was a fraying hole in the fabric. Keiji absently thought that his mother would never wear clothes with holes in.

“Is everything okay, Akaashi? It’s late.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was hoping I could speak to Bokuto?”

He forced himself to omit the usual honorific after his name, not wanting to call Bokuto and his mother by the same address out of politeness. She nods and something in her eyes is all-knowing, staring through Keiji’s skin and looking directly into his stream of thoughts. He crumples under the gaze. Keiji has the fleeting worry about what Bokuto tells his mother about Keiji, worries if she hates him.

She casts a fleeting glance over her shoulder up the stairs and then turns back to him. With her fingers she motions him inside and shuts the door softly behind him.

“Thank you,” he bows again, and she waves it off.

“Just keep the noise down, please. The younger ones are sleeping.”

“Of course. Thank you Bokuto-san.”

He knocks on Bokuto’s door before he enters, waits for the quiet _yeah?_ before pushing the door open.

Bokuto is hunched over doing homework on his bed (there’s no space in his room for a desk), jotting notes furiously with one hand and holding a textbook open with the thumb and forefinger of his other. The hoodie he’s wearing looks big and soft and grey. His hair is down and plastered to his forehead. Music is quietly playing from some corner of the room.

“Sorry I’ll be in- _Akaashi_?”

He pauses for a second when he sees Keiji, surprised by the unsolicited visit, but recovers quickly, gathering all his books and papers into a pile to clear his bed and stacking them neatly on the floor.

Keiji doesn’t say hello. He stares at Bokuto with his teeth pressed into his tongue. Bokuto’s words trip over each other in their haste to make it out of his mouth.

“What are you doing here? Not that I don’t want to see you! I _always_ want to see you- it’s just late, and you don’t usually- did your date go okay?”

The eyes he looks at Keiji with are wide and earnest. His lips are permanently turned upwards in the corner, Keiji notices. He averts his gaze downwards, and then moves to lay on Bokuto’s bed like he had done only a week earlier, curled onto his side with his face pressed into the warm pillow, crowding Bokuto to the wall. His hands are trembling. Bokuto isn’t smiling anymore.

“Kaashi?” His voice was gentle. “Are you okay?”

Keiji makes a noncommittal sound. It was hard to talk around the goldball wedged in his throat.

“Akaashi…did something happen?”

“I have O.C.D.”

There are birds chirping quietly outside the open window. Keiji can hear them singing. He can hear the rise and fall of his own breathing. The words were burning battery acid in his mouth and he needed to spit it out before he choked.

He can hear the bed creak as Bokuto shifts to lay on his side too, facing Keiji.

Keiji doesn’t say anything. His brain imagines a million responses.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bokuto admits quietly.

Keiji’s eyes flutter shut. He breathes. Bokuto rambles.

“Is it bad?” He sounds worried, suddenly. “I’m sorry, I’m so dumb, I don’t know _anything-”_

“It, um-” Keiji swallows and Bokuto goes silent. It was rare for Keiji to lose his measured composure. The stutter in his words didn’t go unnoticed. Keiji took a deep breath and tried again, clutching his fingers together for some modicum of stability. “It stands for Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.”

“Disorder?” He sounds scared, a little bit.

“Yeah.”

Bokuto is quiet for a minute, but then he lets out a tiny laugh. It doesn’t sound right.“That’s a scary word.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it hurt you?”

“The O.C.D.?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Keiji says, trying to find the balance of honesty and comfort that Bokuto needs to stop himself imploding. Keiji doesn’t want to scare him off. “But sometimes it can make me do things that hurt me.”

“Is that why you hurt your fingers?”

Keiji swallowed heavily. He could feel the strain in his throat as it bobbed, the hoarseness in his voice when he said, “yeah.”

Being vulnerable was not something he liked to do in front of people, and admitting to having a weakness such as this was taking a lot out of him. He _never_ talked about it out loud, preferring to keep it locked in a tiny box in the back of his head that he only thought about in emergencies, or at home in the comfort and safety of his room in the dark.

Bokuto stayed looking at him, and when Keiji closed his eyes Bokuto pressed his bare toes against the back of Keiji’s calves.

“You’re still in your clothes. From your date?”

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t open his eyes. “We’re not going on any more dates.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says, and without seeing his face Keiji can’t tell exactly what the emotion thick in Bokuto’s words is. “Did it not go well?”

Keiji laughed. “It went very well.”

“Oh.”

Bokuto didn’t understand, but he also didn’t ask, so Keiji didn’t say anything else. They breathed comfortably together. Keiji was content in the silence but he could tell Bokuto wasn’t. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Keiji sat up and Bokuto’s eyes blinked open.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san, it’s late. I should have waited to tell you. I’ll be leaving now.”

“No, it’s fine!” Bokuto said and lunged, and when Keiji looked down he could see more than feel Bokuto’s hand clasped around his wrist. Bokuto dropped it as soon as he noticed. “You could stay here for the night?”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“You could borrow some of mine?”

The thought sent a current through his entire body. Would they smell like Bokuto? They must do. They would fit slightly too big on Keiji. They would be so comfortable. But-

“I can’t.”

Something tiny was preventing this. Something which wouldn’t affect anybody else but him.

Keiji hadn’t checked the windows. He couldn’t sleep before he checked the windows. He would have to go home, and check all of the windows in his house were locked four times, and then he could sleep. And he would have to check the windows here, too; a mortifying thought.

And he hadn’t brushed his teeth tonight either. Which meant his toothbrush was still in the left hole of the holder, only being switched to the right after he brushed them in the evening. The thought of his toothbrush being in the wrong hole when he came home tomorrow formed a spiralling tension in his gut which he couldn’t stomach.

Bokuto nodded, but he couldn’t hide the disappointed glint in his eyes. Keiji was overwhelmed with guilt. He clamoured for something to say.

“I can call you when I get home?” Keiji offered instead. “I know it’s not the same but-”

“Yes! Please do.”

Keiji nodded, said his goodbyes and left.

—

“Boys night! BOYS NIGHT!”

Keiji can hear Konoha jeering, likely drunk, from all the way down the drive. Four noses press against the glass of Komi’s front window, staring out and waving at Keiji. Reluctantly he waves back and they cheer.

“I bought Pizzas,” he says as he steps into the house as if the boys hadn’t already noticed the towering boxes in his arms, kicking off his shoes at the entryway as his hands are already otherwise preoccupied.

“Akaashi!” They cheer.

“Oh man, I thought for _sure_ you’d arrive with Bokuto.”

Keiji tilts his head.

“He’s not here yet?”

The pizzas are extracted from his arms and placed onto the floor, where the boys all lounge over the sofas and drape themselves on the hardwood.

“Nah. Neither’s Onaga, though, so we just gotta wait before we pick the movie!”

“Drink, Akaashi?” A cup is pushed into his hands.

“No, thank you,” he turns it down. Konoha boos.

Bokuto and Onaga arrive not much later with a various assortment of drinks and snacks between them, flushed and grinning: more than enough to feed the rowdy boys three times over. Bokuto makes his way to Akaashi like a ship to a lighthouse, pushing through the people until he was seated beside him.

“Are you drinking?” Bokuto asks Akaashi, eyes widening, curious, when he notices Keiji’s cup is empty. Subtlety is not Bokuto’s strong suit.

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says and Keiji can see the clockwork turning in his brain. “Do you want me to stay sober with you?”

Keiji chuckles. “No, please. Drink away.”

Somebody turns the music up and the boys down their drinks, immediately settling into the warm haze of tipsiness and pushing the line on drunk. Onaga and Sarakui are doing an elaborate dance which makes Keiji laugh: if not for their sprightly kicking legs then for the fact that Onaga’s face is completely devoid of emotion and that Sarakui is nearly bought to tears as a result of it, arms linking as they spin themselves in circles. Konoha is flinging himself at Washio, begging to be lifted.

“You’ve seen dirty dancing right Washio?” He starts, giggling.

Bokuto cheers them on. Konaha turns to Sarakui, who is now doing his best impression of the robot dance, and taunts. “Washio should be able to lift me like that _right? Right Sarakui?”_

“Oh definitely! In his bigs strong, middle-blocker arms.” He flexes his muscles. Washio, a polar-opposite personality when drunk, giggles.

“Holy _shit, fine.”_

Everyone laughs in absolute glee as Konoha is flung to the ceiling, resting on Washio’s large palms, his arms trembling only a moderate amount under the full weight of an eighteen year old athlete.

“Me next!” Komi laughs.

Bokuto, curiously, does not join them in their shenanigans but stays and nurses his drink next to Keiji, holding a mostly legible conversation as he drinks in surprising moderation. He turns down a drink from Komi when offered.

“Bokuto-san, are you _okay?”_ Keiji asks, teasing. Bokuto flashes a grin, muscles loose with the alcohol. “You’re not dancing.’

“I’m too _tired_ to dance,” he reasons, and stretched out his arms in front of him. Konoha shrieks in glee before them.

Keiji checks his phone constantly to keep track of the time. His evening routine requires meticulous timing. He couldn’t be late home.

Bokuto is talking to him about how he might buy a new tortoise soon, that he needs a job for the holiday before _university_ , because he thinks Spinner is lonely while everyone is at school all the time, and his plans to bring him to university, when Keiji’s phone vibrates on the table.

“Your phone,” Bokuto points out as if Keiji hadn’t noticed, but he it is in his hands and read in a second.

It was his mother.

**_From: Mom_ **

_Keiji. I have checked all the window locks. I know it won’t stop you from checking and you will still come home to do it, but I have already checked._

“Who is it?” Bokuto asks, peering over to see his phone. Keiji switches it off and places it face-down on the table, letting the notification fade away into the inky darkness.

“My mother,” he says. “Nothing important.”

The movie they decide on is a shitty horror movie. Keiji is not one to scare easy but he can already see how this will end.

Tipsy, Sarukui is giggling on one end of the sofa, prodding Onaga and whispering something Keiji is sure is along the lines of _oh man this movie is going to be so scary. You will die Onaga. Who do you think is gonna scream first? I bet you’re gonna cry, Onaga._

“One second,” Komi objects and returns a second later with several large blankets, which he distributes haphazardly to everyone while the title sequence plays.

“Nothin’ wrong with a bunch of homies cuddling under some blankets,” Konaha says, and snuggles into Onaga’s shoulder, who only sighs. Everybody giggles.

Keiji sits on the floor next to Bokuto with Komi sitting behind at his shoulders. Komi had offered to sit on the floor but Akaashi insisted, reasoning that it was Komi’s house and it was only polite for him to have a seat, and not mentioning that if he sat on the floor then he could sit next to Bokuto, which perhaps the truer, more selfish answer.

“Here, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says as the lights are switched off and the opening title sequence begins to roll, offering Keiji the other half of the blanket he was already residing under. Keiji pulls the thick material to his chest. Their shared body heat warms the blanket quickly.

Everyone shrieks at the first jumpscare- even Keiji, who doesn’t scare easy. Komi laughs when Anahori launches his popcorn into the air.

“Oh my god, you _babies,”_ Konoha laughs, as if he wasn’t screaming ten seconds earlier, but Keiji isn’t paying attention because he can feel Bokuto shift subtly closer to him. Perhaps the scary movie was a good idea after all.

When the second jumpscare comes on Bokuto grabs Keiji’s hand under the blanket and Keiji’s entire body goes up in flames.

Bokuto’s hand is warm, and rough and a little clammy, and his grip around Keiji’s fingers is tight, though they loosen when the movie continues on from the scary part. After a second Bokuto moves to take his hand back, now that the immediate threat was gone, but Keiji quickly tightens his grip. Bokuto stalls.

 _Stay,_ Keiji’s fingers say. _Don’t let go._

The entire team is right behind them _._ Did they know that their captain and vice captain were holding hands right in front of them? Keiji thinks _they must know_ and fights to keep his face schooled into neutral, after a fleeting glance behind them he notices none of them are paying them any mind, all fixated on the screen in front of them, the room too dark for them to notice anything anyways. When he looks over to Bokuto he can see the flush high and prominent on his cheekbones. He seems to be sinking into his own body.

But his hand doesn’t move away from Keiji’s again. His thumb burns circles into the back of Keiji’s.

 _He must be embarrassed that he grabbed my hand,_ Keiji reasoned. _That I know how much this movie is scaring him._

Both their hands are clammy from the warmth under the blanket but they hold onto each other.

They are reluctant to pull away once the credits roll. Komi stretches on the sofa behind them and dangles his legs down. They linger.

Even after the lights are switched back on and the jovial laughter fills the room the imprint of Bokuto’s touch is seared into Keiji’s palm, flesh-deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont even know if anyones read this far but !!! if you have i love you


	7. a billion flowers, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know things that you don't know  
> i know why the flowers grow  
> not because they're watered right  
> not because they see the light  
> just because I love you
> 
> -just because, lizzy mcalpine

Bokuto kept to his word and called Keiji every single night, to the point where Keiji had begun to expect it. He would sit around pretend to preoccupy himself, waiting for the telltale buzz on his nightstand. It had become another part of Keiji’s nightly routine: he checks the windows, he swaps his toothbrush, and he waits for Bokuto’s call.

The call comes as Keiji towels his hair dry from the shower, and he lets it ring four times before picking up.

“Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto’s voice was an enthusiastic as ever. Even just the tone of it was enough to bring Keiji to the brink of a smile these days. His thoughts darted to the movie night at Komi’s, of Bokuto’s rough palm sliding against his _,_ and he reeled it back immediately. “Akaashi, I have great news!”

“Oh?”

“I got a job!”

“Oh. Congratulations! Where is it?”

“At the gardening centre! I’m going to just be selling plants I think, mostly. I’m not sure yet. I have my induction tomorrow! But now I’ll finally be able to afford a friend for Spinner!”

Keiji could imagine Bokuto’s smiling face and tanned skin in the forest-green gardening apron, enthusiastically talking to middle-aged women about petuniascolouring and the specific growing patterns of tulips. Bokuto would give his 110% to this job just as he would anything else.

“Am I allowed to visit?”

“Of course! You probably know more about plants than me! You could come and keep me company!”

Keiji smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“As long as you’re not too busy at home, of course! I don’t wanna distract you.”

Keiji could hear the pout in Bokuto’s voice, and he let out a long groan and threw himself onto his bed. It was a luxurious thing with big, thick duvets and Keiji sank straight into it, absorbed into the covers like quicksand.

“What’s that groan about, Akaashi?” Bokuto asked, playful. “You _don’t_ want to come see me?”

Keiji flipped on the bed so he was on his back, sprawled like a starfish, hand gently curling into the duvet.

“Kazumi’s university finished up today, so he’s going to be coming and staying with us soon. Probably for a while, like last year.”

“Doesn’t he have an apartment, though? What about the money it costs?”

“My parent’s are paying for it mostly anyways.” Keiji felt embarrassed admitting it. “Money doesn’t really bother my family at all.”

“Oh,” Bokuto said. Keiji couldn’t help but think about how opposite it would be for him. Bokuto’s parents could barely afford the breadline; even though Keiji knew they could make ends meet Bokuto was taking up a job amidst volleyball and school to help out. It was a situation Keiji knew he would never have to be in.

“I’m going to die.”

“Well, more excuses to hang out with me!”

The genuine happiness rang in his words. Keiji would give anything to see the expression on Bokuto’s face right now.

“You’re going to get sick of me at this rate, Bokuto-san.”

“I could _never.”_

“I don’t know about that. We would run out of things to talk about eventually.”

“No we won’t! Because now I have a job I’ll have fun stories to tell you every day!”

“Even so.”

“I won’t ever get bored!”

There’s a sound of shuffling on the other side of the phone, a small puff of breath. Keiji imagines Bokuto tossing and turning on his bed to dispel the days residual energy, working up the nerve to ask questions and yet telling Keiji such _honest_ things with no sense of embarrassment at all. How Bokuto was so _open_ all the time was unimaginable to him. Bokuto wore a specific shade of earnest that Keiji would never tire of.

“Why do you hate your brother?” Bokuto asks.

Keiji is quiet.

“Because he is a bad person.”

“But how?” Bokuto prods. “He hasn’t hurt anyone or anything. Has he?”

Trying to explain his distaste for his brother was like trying to describe colours to the blind: maybe somehow, with a lot of thought and specifically-chosen words you get understand the _gist_ of what’s being explained, but it is impossible to replicate how it feels having it constantly and without thinking, in every-day life, in everything you do.

“Because he takes good things and he ruins them.”

Quietly, they breathe together.

“My parents are arguing,” Bokuto admits quietly.

“Oh.” Keiji turns onto his side. “Is everything alright?”

Now that Bokuto had pointed it out and Keiji was listening for it he could make out the blurry background voices. They were quiet from the distance but their biting tone was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” A distant shout punctuated this. Keiji winced. “They just get stressed, is all. Six kids will do that to you, I guess.”

Bokuto laughed, fake and short. Keiji did not laugh with him.

“Akaashi…”

Suddenly he was quieter and more serious. Keiji barely had time to catalogue the switch in tone, to run through the response protocols.

“Yes?”

He could _hear_ Bokuto fidgeting. A coil in his stomach tightened.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For being my friend.”

Keiji moves to say something, _hating_ the depreciating tone to Bokuto’s voice but Bokuto interrupts. “No, I know I’m a handful at times. You’re my best friend, Akaashi. I just- thank you. For everything.”

“Of course,” Keiji says breathless, worried. “You’re my best friend too, Bokuto-san. You don’t have to _thank_ me.”

“I’m your best friend?”

He wants Bokuto to be here, on Keiji’s bed with him in the big empty house so Keiji could hold him, run his fingers through Bokuto’s mismatched hair and tell him how _important_ he is. How much happier he is when Bokuto is there. How his stomach clenches when Bokuto says his name, how Bokuto’s smile fills his chest with such an overwhelming emotion he can’t even begin to name it. How when Bokuto held his hand last night Keiji felt as though everything might be okay. How he hadn’t _stopped_ thinking about Bokuto’s hand.

How Bokuto is the first thing he thinks of in the morning, the last thing he thinks of at night.

He wishes he had the strength to tell Bokuto even a fraction of this.

“Yes. Irrevocably.”

—

Kazumi arrives that Wednesday. By the time Keiji is home from school Kazumi is already there, unpacked and breathing in the air of his old home, looking as though he had never moved out in the first place. The signs of him being back were unmistakable though- his shiny car in the driveway, his lush, wool coat hung up in the porch next to his expensive leather shoes. Anybody who had known Kazumi at all would have noticed these marks from a mile.

“Keiji!” He exclaims happily as Keiji removes his shoes, hangs up his coat which was now slightly damp with rain. “I’m just unpacking my movie collection! If you’re not busy we could watch something together?”

“I’ve got homework,” Keiji cuts him off and walks up the stairs.

Usually when he’s home he keeps the door open, but he shuts it now and drops his bag on the floor with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.

He wishes Kazumi wasn’t here. He wishes _he_ wasn’t here.

Keiji imagines being back at Bokuto’s house, laying on the small strip of carpet, bumping his legs against Bokuto’s and giggling when he kicks back, holding Spinner the tortoise and helping Bokuto with math and listening to Bokuto tell him about the gardening centre.

He imagines the strip of skin between Bokuto’s shorts and his kneepads in the gyms changing rooms. the way it makes his stomach coil tight and sweat collect in the hairs at the nape of his neck. Keiji is not a clammy person but Bokuto makes him stutter, makes him second guess everything he thought he knew about life and love and friendship and lust.

As if summoned a text from Bokuto comes through.

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_akaashi!!!! did u know that sunflowers are actually like a BILLION little flowers????_

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_like it looks like 1 flower but actlly is made of heads of hundreds of baby lil sunflowers !!!_

It was Bokuto’s first official day. Keiji pictured Bokuto, dressed impeccably smart in his uniform, sneakily messaging Keiji from under a table or hidden down an aisle. Deep down a part of him liked the thought,

**_From: AKAAAAASHI_ **

_Should you be on your phone at work, Bokuto-san?_

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_ill forget these cool facts if i dont text u them now!!!!_

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_plus they remind me of u!!_

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_plus plus i dont mind gettin in truble if it means i can talk 2 u (_ ✿◠‿◠ _)_

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_unless u dont want flower facts then ill stop!! :((_

Keiji bit down on his bottom lip and commended his own willpower for not marching down to the garden centre now and buying their entire stock of sunflowers and giving them to Bokuto one by one, every day. The thought was so incredibly sappy that he cringed internally, snuffing it immediately. Gross.

**_From: AKAAAAASHI_ **

_Please don’t stop sending flower facts_

He clutched the phone to his chest so he could feel when Bokuto replied rather than see it.

Sometimes, in situations like this, Keiji is convinced Bokuto must feel the same way about him. Keiji cannot be the only one with this fire burning so brightly in his chest when Bokuto can text him things like _this,_ that he would risk trouble just to talk to Keiji. Does Bokuto text other people like this? The thought makes him wilt, and then he stops thinking altogether.

When Keiji goes downstairs for a glass of water he notices his parents shoes are still not in the hall. A dim blue light emanates from the living room and Keiji can hear the hushed static-y voices indicating Kazumi’s film is still running.

Curious, Keiji goes to peek his head around the doorway, and sees Kazumi curled up on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and loosely draped over his hair. Like this he looks so much younger. Keiji doesn’t mean to stare but he finds he can’t look away.

After a second Kazumi must feel the weight of Keiji’s gaze and tilts his head to meet it. If he was surprised to find his younger brother staring at him from the doorway he doesn’t say it.

“Do you know where mom and dad are?” Keiji asks, and Kazumi shakes his head, eyes flitting back to the screen. He smiles slightly and cocks his head. Keiji can see the TV screen reflected in his shiny, dark, eyes, making them look a brilliant, bright blue in the light. Kazumi points to it.

“Look. Groundhog Day,” Kazumi still doesn’t look to him. “Your favourite.”

Keiji blinks, and his heart beats with it.

He didn’t think Kazumi would remember that.

For a split second he considers moving towards the sofa and sitting next to him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders like he would when they were children pretending they were superheroes ready to save the world.

Keiji turns away, and his bare-feet take him back to his bedroom, the water in the kitchen forgotten.

—

When Bokuto had first started coming over to Keiji’s house a year ago the two of them had always found reasons to justify it ( _“Akaashi can you help me with my homework?” “Bokuto-san we’re making your favourite dinner tonight”),_ and even though they were almost two years deep in friendship and both intensely aware at how thin the excuses were becoming, they always felt a need to warrant Bokuto coming to Keiji’s house.

Perhaps it was because Keiji’s house was much less homely than Bokuto’s- the idea of someone coming there because they _wanted_ to seemed so out of the picture that they needed to justify Bokuto’s desire for coming to visit, as there clearly were no other motivations for sitting in Keiji’s bedroom other than homework.

There was also no need for them to be pressed thigh-to-thigh given how wide Keiji’s room spread, given that there was both a large bed and a desk and meters of floor-room, but for this they had no excuse and instead elected to ignore, just like they ignored the hand-holding and the lingering gazes and unapologetic truths.

“Okay, I’m bored,” Bokuto said and threw his math homework to the floor with an _oomph._ Keiji rolled his eyes. “I’m thinking of a number. You have to guess it.”

Keiji levelled him with a stare. He debated a moment.

“Four.”

“Aw man! How did you know?”

Bokuto looked genuinely disgruntled. Keiji smiled.

“Lucky guess.”

“Aw!”

“What number am _I_ thinking?”

Bokuto stared hard, as if he could figure it out if he creased his brow just enough.

“Five?”

“No.”

“Thirty two?”

“No.”

“A million.”

“No.”

“This is too hard!”

Bokuto put his hands over his face, hiding it away from Keiji.

“I was also thinking of four.”

Bokuto groaned. Keiji grinned, watching as Bokuto flung himself with practiced dramatics, rolling himself over the broad expanse of Keiji’s hardwood floor. He was wearing an oversized hoodie and as he stretched a strip of pale stomach was revealed. Keiji averted his eyes like he was burned.

“Your room is so big!”

Bokuto continued rolling until his back hit the solid wood of Keiji’s desk, knocking it slightly and causing the whole thing to rattle.

Keiji laughed as Bokuto yelped, resuming his rolling in the other direction back towards Keiji, bulldozing straight into his knees.

“Bokuto-san!” Keiji exclaimed, and Bokuto stopped rolling for a moment, but Keiji’s brief satisfaction was displaced when Bokuto lifted his head slightly and dropped it into Keiji’s lap.

All the energy seemed to dissipate from them into the surrounding air, Bokuto going boneless in his lap and Keiji tense with the worry of where to put his hands when Bokuto decides for him.

Slow enough that Keiji could have avoided it if he wanted to, Bokuto gently wraps his fingers around Keiji’s wrist and dropped them into Bokuto’s own hair, which was such an immediately overwhelming scenario to Keiji’s touch-starved senses that he thought he would explode from the mere contact.

Without being prompted Keiji began to move his fingers, stroking Bokuto’s scalp with light pressure and pulling the fluffy tufts of hair through his fingertips. Bokuto sighed and his eyes closed involuntarily.

Surely this was going over the blurred line they had constructed. Every sign told Keiji this was a bad idea, but with Bokuto everything felt simple- they both liked doing this, so why would they ever stop?

“I’m going to live in a house as big as yours when I’m older,” Bokuto says, and there is the faintest trace of a smile on his face. Keiji has no doubts that he’s vividly imagining it behind his closed eyelids. “Or bigger, even. It’s going to have balconies, and a thousand rooms.”

“You don’t want that, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says. “My house feels so empty.”

“Okay, maybe not this big, but still _big!_ And there will be photos of my family _everywhere._ And maybe a home gym.”

“Wow, that’s indulging. You’re going to have to be rich.”

“I will be!” Bokuto grins, so sure. “And the kitchen will be huge! And so will the garden. It needs to be for when I get my sheepdog.”

“It sounds lovely,” Keiji smiles, working his fingers through Bokuto’s soft hair. Bokuto’s eyes remain closed, and his smile grows more affectionate.

“I want there to be a porch. With one of those swing-sets on- you know the wooden ones? That look like a bench?”

“I know the one.”

“And there will be pretty flowers everywhere, in every colour!”

“Mhmm,” Keiji agreed. He could picture the house in his head: something big and warm and lovely. Bokuto would belong in something like that.

“The view will be beautiful,” Bokuto says, his voice softer now. It almost stills. His eyes remain closed and a small smile ghosts his lips, his breathing even. “We’ll live in the countryside away from everyone. And there will be a big library, with every book you can imagine, so you can read whenever you want.”

“A library, in the house?” Keiji asks, and his hands still in Bokuto’s hair. “But Bokuto-san, you _hate_ reading.”

But when Bokuto’s eyes flutter open Keiji can see it written plainly there in his golden irises. Affection. _Worship._ His heart stutters in his chest, and he is acutely aware of the flush quickly rising to the highs of his cheekbones. He can see when Bokuto realises what he’s said too in the widening of his eyes, the firm planting of his palms to the ground as if he’s ready to push himself up and run away.

Bokuto sits up quickly, still impossibly close to Keiji in the way he’s turned, and Keiji can see the uncharacteristic nerves in the way Bokuto’s hands fist in his hoodie, twisting and untwisting the fabric, but his eyes never backing away from Akaashi’s own. His mouth opens and closes, the words dying before he can even push them out.

“Akaashi, I-” he laughs tensely, arm coming to rub at the back of his neck. “Well that’s embarassing-”

And then Keiji’s mouth is on his and the words fizzle out like a a flame, but the erupting warmth between them tides over like wildfire.

Keiji’s hands are on Bokuto’s shoulders and he can feel when Bokuto’s hands move up to cup his cheeks, thumbs pressed warm to the corners of his clenched eyes as they kissed, over and over and _over._

Keiji pulled back almost immediately, said, _“I’m so sorry, I should have asked,”_ but Bokuto pulls their foreheads together, is grinning as he says, _“I am so happy.”_

Their bodies were awkwardly crossed, which was rectified by Bokuto shifting so their knees touched, and it was abundantly clear neither of them were particularly experienced in this, giggling as their noses pressing awkwardly until Keiji moved his head and _oh, that felt better._

Keiji pulls away when he realises he needs to breathe, and Bokuto tries to chase his lips, and as they stare at each-other dazed that is what Keiji will remember; Bokuto following him. Bokuto wanting as much as _he_ did.

There is nothing Keiji can do but stare at Bokuto’s flushed face, at the grin splitting it in half until he ducks his head to Keiji’s shoulder, until he can feel Bokuto’s fingers lacing his own where they rested in his lap. He’s reminded of the night they held hands at Komi’s, but this felt _so much better_. It was more. Bokuto laughs, nervous and giggly.

“I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so _long,_ oh my god Akaashi.”

Keiji can hear the grin, and he can feel it against his neck. It brings goosebumps to the hairs of his arms.

“Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you liked me like that- I didn’t want to, like, make you feel that you _had_ to kiss me or-.”

“I like you like that,” Keiji says quickly. “I definitely like you like that.”

“Aw man,” Bokuto sings. Joy suits him. Bokuto was contagious and Keiji couldn’t bite back his grin. “I am so, so, happy.”

“I am too,” Keiji says and he realises he is telling the full, unadulterated truth. He was happy.

He unlaces their fingers and Bokuto protests quickly, until Keiji’s wrapped his arms around Bokuto’s shoulders, pulling them both into an embrace which Bokuto quickly returns, large hands running circles up and down Keiji’s back as they breathed, legs resting either side of Keiji’s trembling thighs.

Being kissed felt good. Being kissed felt _great._

Being held felt better.

He would be happy to die like this, he thinks idly. Bokuto’s hand rubs a circle into his shoulder. He can feel the soft breathing on his neck. He would be happy to do anything with Bokuto Koutarou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it happened :')) 
> 
> (comments and kudos are greatly greatly appreciated!!)


	8. locked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know a boy  
> he likes to laugh  
> his brain is a mess  
> but i like it like that  
> i know a boy  
> he tastes like the moon  
> hangs up the stars  
> that dance 'round my room
> 
> -i know a boy, lizzy mcalpine
> 
> (PLEASE CHECK NOTES FOR WARNINGS)

When Keiji asked his parents exactly how long Kazumi would be staying they had no definite answer; instead responding _“ask him yourself,”_ and _“Keiji, please can you just put this childish pettiness behind you, he’s your brother.”_

It was not that he thought he _couldn’t_ live with Kazumi, he definitely could, (he had for their entire childhood after all) but rather he just _really_ didn’t want to. Especially now that something had just happened with Bokuto. Keiji would have really just preferred the house to be always empty- something he now realised he had taken for granted all these years.

“Could you pass the milk?” Kazumi asked at the breakfast table.

Keiji’s father licked his thumb and flipped the page of the newspaper he was reading. Keiji handed Kazumi the milk.

The three Akaashi men ate in relative silence. None of them were particularly the talkative type, but it was always Kazumi he felt the urge to fill the voids.

“Where’s mom?” Kazumi asked, spooning cheerios into his mouth. A bead of milk collected on his lower lip and Keiji resisted the urge to smack it off. His father looked up with a glance. Stubble was prominent on his chin, an indicator that he was overdue a shave.

“She’s pulling another long shift,” he said. His words were particularly monotone today. Keiji ate at his toast idly, eyes darting between his dad and his brother.

“Oh, what time will she be back?”

“Late. Nine, maybe?”

“Long.”

“Tell me about it,” his father drops the newspaper to the table and rubs his hands over his face. Abruptly he stands and walks over to the kitchen counters, pressed suit curling crisp to his joints, always snug to the elbows and knees. He roots through the drawers, seemingly looking for something.

“Either of you boys want an omelette? I’m starving.”

Both boys looked at each other, then down to the food they were already eating.

“I’m good,” Kazumi said.

“Yeah, same.”

“Suit yourselves,” he continued to dig through the deep kitchen drawers, one after the other, and then lifted his head. “Have either of you boys seen the skillet?”

“No?”

“Hmm,” he searched the drawer again, eventually giving up and pulling out a much smaller pan. “Guess I’ll just have to use the smaller one.”

The pan sizzled as his dad cracked one, two eggs into it.

“You have school today?” Kazumi asked Keiji as if he wasn’t already dressed immaculately in the fukurodani uniform biding the seconds until he could leave.

“Yeah.”

“When are you leaving?”

Keiji clicked his phone on to check the time. There was a notification on the screen: **_New message from: Bokuto-san._**

Keiji felt his heart skip a beat involuntarily and resolved to read it later away from prying eyes.

“Twenty minutes or so?”

“Oh, I’ll give you a lift!”

Keiji responded quickly. “No, it’s okay.”

“No, really! I’m heading up that way, anyway. I’ll drop you.”

“It’s fine, I walk with my friend.”

“Bokuto?” Kazumi asks. “That’s alright I can pick him up too. Let him know we’re leaving in half hour or so.”

Keiji bit his tongue. The frying pan sizzled in the background as he considered his options.

He could turn Kazumi down in front of their dad. If the word got back to mother that Keiji was starting petty arguments he risked trouble, especially as it was still the first week of Kazumi’s stay.

Or he could accept the lift and just tolerate it. Bokuto would be in the car with him, anyway. Surely that would make it better.

Keiji’s brain reasoned with him, _maybe Kazumi’s changed, anyway. It’s been a while._

Keiji doesn’t get to make the decision, though, because Kazumi stands up a minute later having finished his breakfast and puts his bowl in the dishwasher. He gives Keiji a smile and says, “I’ll call you when we’re leaving,” before he exits the room.

Keiji goes back to his room soon after, sitting at the desk and gazing out at the street through the closed window. Toying with his phone he builds up the courage to open his messages. It flashes, taunting.

**_New message from: Bokuto-san._ **

He opens it, unsure why the nerves were bundling.

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_hey hey hey !!! good morning Akaashi !!! i hope you have a great great day today !! cant wait 2 c u today !!!! (_ ≧◡≦ _)_

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_< 3 <3 <3 <3_

Keiji couldn’t fight the grin spreading over his face so he pressed it into his palm.

He felt like a school girl with a crush, getting flustered over a _text message_. It was ridiculously embarrassing. He contemplated a response for a few minutes but found the words always came easier with Bokuto than anyone else in his life. He thought back to Bokuto’s words when he was figuring out how to text Chiaki: _when you like someone, talking to them isn’t hard._

**_From: AKAASHI <3 <3 <3_ **

_Good morning, Bokuto-san. I have missed you very, very much. My brother said he would give us a lift to school today, if that’s okay with you? We’ll be leaving at half seven._

And then, after a moment of consideration:

**_From: AKAASHI <3 <3 <3_ **

_< 3_

_—_

Sitting in the passenger seat was a new experience for Keiji. It was always his mother or father who would sit shotgun, or if one of them were missing then, as the older of the two boys, Kazumi would get the privilege of riding up front, and his parents rarely went anywhere alone with Keiji. Keiji couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. As a child he had built the front seat up in his mind to be some glorious spot, a sort of idealised oasis, but in reality it was just another seat, the only difference from the others in the back being the inability to escape conversation by ducking his head.

While Kazumi prepared the car, eyes flicking up to the mirror, head craning around from right-to-left, hand expertly shifting the gear from neutral to one to two, they sat in silence, but Keiji could only bear this for a moment before flicking the radio on, eyes trained on watching Kazumi’s hands controlling the car. When Kazumi lived in the house he used to be into loud, alternative music, but the CD that flicked on was something quiet and acoustic. It sounded more like something from Keiji’s own collection than anything he would have associated with Kazumi.

“Where does Bokuto live again?” Kazumi asks. His eyes flick to the wing-mirror, then the car turns left. Keiji tracks the movement.

“Next right,” Keiji says. “I’ll just guide you. It’s not too far.”

“Ah, thanks. I never could figure out the sat-nav. This technology shit just isn’t for me.”

Keiji would have made a joke if it was anyone else, but he didn’t want to entertain Kazumi. He preferred the long, uncomfortable silence that grew between them.

“How is school going?” Kazumi tried to start conversation again. “I’m assuming you’re still doing great. I’ve not heard from you in so long.”

“Schools alright.”

“Of course. You always were the smarter one out of the two of us.”

That wasn’t true. Kazumi had been blessed in almost every single way, snatching all the good genes before Keiji could even have the chance of fighting for them- intelligent, better looking, charming, funny, not riddled with mental illness.

Keiji balanced his his chin on the palm of his hand, deigning to look out the window and no longer to his perfect brother, the car jostling slightly as it conquered the bumpy road. Keiji could feel Kazumi’s eyes flicking to him again and again and again, filling him with restless energy, the entire car vibrating with it until Kazumi broke the silence again.

“Keiji, I’m-” his voice restricted. Keiji stared harder out the window. “You know I’m sorry, right? I’ve said it _so many times-”_

“Next left.”

“-I really am. You don’t know how _hard_ it was for me to-”

“You’re going to miss the turning. Left.”

Kazumi looked at him for a moment longer, but sighed. Keiji could hear the clicking of the indicator and feel the quick swerve of the car.

Keiji’s teeth gnawed into his bottom lip intently. His mouth filled with metallic aftertaste.

They sat in silence the rest of the journey, the only noises being Keiji’s occasional _“left”_ and the gentle hum of Kazumi’s music, which now seemed too loud for the car. He wanted to turn it off. They pulled up to Bokuto’s house and Keiji texted him _we’re outside,_ practically hearing Bokuto bound down the shabby stairs of his house and run out toward the car.

Keiji’s heart skipped when he saw him.

It was as if he saw everything about Bokuto in a different light now. Keiji wasn’t sure if that was unusual or not. His heart sped up at the sight of Bokuto’s brilliant smile, directed to him and him _only_. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey, Bokuto!” Kazumi said, flicking his eyes to see Bokuto in the mirror, no trace of their previous silence left. Keiji looked too. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Hey, Kazumi!” Bokuto grinned in the backseat. He pulled his bag into his lap, and even though he was talking to Kazumi he was looking at Keiji. “Wow, you guys look so similar!”

“It’s the hair,” Keiji said.

“How are you, Bokuto? Are you still doing volleyball?” The car pulled away from the drive.

“Yeah!” Bokuto visibly perked at the sports mention. Keiji rolled his eyes. “We’re going to nationals in, like, two weeks!”

Kazumi looked straight to Keiji.

“ _Nationals?_ Wow,” Kazumi laughed. “I didn’t realise you guys were _that_ good!”

“Bokuto is a top 5 ace under 18 in Japan.”

Bokuto beamed under the praise, not even trying to look sheepish. Kazumi’s eyes were near bulging out from his head.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah!”

“Fukurodani really has changed, huh?” Kazumi laughed. “We weren’t going to nationals when _I_ was there!”

Keiji couldn’t stop the flow of praise leaving his mouth. “It was all Bokuto. We didn’t get a shot at nationals until he was added to the starting lineup.”

“Starting lineup. Wow. You were still on the bench when I was here last, right?”

“I was! But I wouldn’t have been a starter without Akaashi’s tosses!”

Keiji flushed. Kazumi shook his head. “So much has changed.”

“Yeah, I’m cool, right?!”

“Yeah!” Kazumi laughed again, eyebrows drawing together as he let out a loud groan. “Man, I’m so out of the loop. I’ll have to come and watch your next game!”

“You should!” Bokuto interjected before Keiji could say anything snarky. Keiji did not do a particularly convincing job of looking placid. Bokuto’s praises of him were beginning to wear off, replaced again by the dull annoyance he so often wore.

“Keiji?” Kazumi asked. Keiji shrugged noncommittally, fighting back rolling his eyes.

“If you want.”

Silence filtered in again as Bokuto lacked a reply. There was a buzz in his lap. Keiji looked down at his phone.

**_From: Bokuto-san_ **

_u look very pretty today !!! <3 <3 <3_

Keiji’s eyes caught Bokuto’s in the mirror. He was already smiling. Keiji had to bite back his own.

—

Somehow throughout the course of the day Bokuto had convinced Keiji into letting him sleep over. It should not have been such a difficult thing for two teenage boys to agree upon, especially when they both utterly and completely wanted to, but there were certain pre-requisites Keiji needed before he could mentally allow it: time and understanding.

Keiji had time-consuming, tedious and intricately constructed routines he needed to complete nightly, so whoever was staying had to know about his O.C.D. to some capacity, and they needed to be comfortable enough to be left alone for a given period of time while Keiji completed them. He also needed to know that they were going to be staying beforehand so that he could adequately prepare himself and combat the spikes of nerves. He would not be able to sleep otherwise.

It was not even necessarily that he thought people would react _badly_ to his routines but rather that he was so vulnerable doing them he didn’t want anybody to know about them. They were so intimately entwined with his core, something he did to fight against his deepest and most irrational fears which he usually kept others in the dark to: the idea of someone else being aware of them or watching him do them felt inexplicably wrong.

“You’ve had sleepovers before, though,” Bokuto said, sat on one of the chairs at the counter in Keiji’s kitchen. Keiji was rooting through the cupboards looking for something they could eat. “When we’ve had training camps you’ve slept over and you’ve always seemed fine.”

“I _was_ fine,” he responded, cooly. They had lots of rice. Keiji wondered if he should make a meal or if pizza would just be okay. “It’s not the sleepover bit that stresses me out. It’s the routines.”

“Routines?” Keiji decided the pizza would be better. He set about preparing it.

“I didn’t see you do any routines.”

“Yeah, that was sort of the point.”

He could feel Bokuto pouting behind his back, so he continued. “Coach knows about my condition. We weren’t in my house so I couldn’t perform the routines I usually do, I just had to keep going and checking things until I found what worked and my anxiety went down. Coach came along with me.”

“Oh, okay,” Bokuto was kicking his legs. Keiji could hear the quiet _thump thump thump._ “What sort of things did you do?” Then, quickly, “oh my god is that rude to ask? Sorry, you don’t have to answer if it’s rude! I don’t know.”

Keiji smiled slightly. He turned so his back was to the counter and he was facing Bokuto, who was looking at him with wide eyes and a worried expression. Keiji wrung his fingers together.

“It’s okay, uh,” he bit down lightly on his tongue. This wasn’t something he usually talked about. The training camp had been a while ago but Keiji could still remember the routines he completed like a brand. “I went and checked all the doors on the gyms a few times. Four times. I also checked the fire escapes. I wasn’t allowed to check all the teams rooms, obviously, but I was given permission to check Karasuno and Nekoma’s doors and windows while they bathed, and ours, obviously.”

“What were you checking for?”

Keiji shrugged. “That they were locked? I don’t know. I just had to make sure everything was safe.”

Bokuto looked deep in thought, a furrow forming between his eyebrows, so Keiji interjected quickly.

“It doesn’t always make sense, it kind of-”

“No, I think it makes sense!”

Talking about it was weird. Keiji felt as though he was holding his heart with two hands in front of him and stabbing swords into it himself, hoping it wouldn’t hurt and still being disappointed at the blood trickling through his fingers. But then holding his heart in his hands was a weight from his chest. This was something he spent so long not talking about.

“Are your family not eating with us?” Bokuto asked later when Keiji pulled the pizza from the oven and split it between them. Keiji took the seat beside him at the table, twisting his chair at an angle so he could still see Bokuto well.

He shook his head. “My parents aren’t usually home for dinner.”

“What about Kazumi?”

“I’m not cooking for him.”

Bokuto laughed, loud and unrestrained at Keiji’s pettiness. “Wow, I’m not used to seeing _mean_ Akaashi!” Bokuto wasn’t even touching the pizza, instead resting his cheek on his fist to look at Keiji. “But you’d cook for me?”

Keiji rolled his eyes. “Eat your pizza.”

Bokuto smiled and obeyed. One hand found Keiji’s under the table.

—

Keiji’s bedroom door didn’t have a lock, even though it was something he had requested from his parents multiple times over the years. They always responded by saying it was _too dangerous Keiji, what if there’s an emergency and we need to get you out?_

Keiji was rolling a futon onto the floor even though he knew it was unlikely to be used. It would be nice to have the option. Bokuto was draped over his bed looking like something from a movie, reminiscent of a beautiful French woman or a lingerie model, even though he was just a tired and sweaty and clingy teenage boy. He had taken a shower and his hair was now flat around his head. His thighs went on for miles beneath his pyjama shorts.

“Akaaaaaaashi,” he stretched the word out, looking at Keiji upside down with his head hanging off the bed, saying his name just for the sake of saying it. Then his eyes focus on something on Keiji’s bedside table and he sits up. “Akaashi, you wear glasses?”

Keiji spared a glance to his side-table where his wireframes were neatly folded. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that! I’ve never seen you in them.”

“That’s because we play volleyball, Bokuto-san. I wear contacts to school.”

“Still, I’ve never noticed!”

“It’s not something I’ve been inclined to tell anyone.”

“Do you wear your glasses in the evening?”

“Usually.”

“When you’re on the phone to me?”

The mention of their daily phone conversations bought a flush to Keiji’s cheeks. “Sometimes, yeah.”

When he looked over Bokuto was smiling, Keiji’s glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.

“How do I look?”

Beautiful. “Stupid.”

Bokuto looked affronted, and then laughed. “Wow, Akaashi really _is_ mean today!”

Keiji laughed. “You look nice. Are they not hurting your eyes?”

“They _are,”_ and in one swift movement Bokuto had put them back on the side table. “‘Kaashi you are _blind.”_

Keiji smiled. “Not legally.”

When he stood up Bokuto was back to being sprawled over Keiji’s bed, instantly unconcerned and at home in the unfamiliar environment. He was watching Keiji through the drying tufts of his hair. Keiji’s expression turned more serious. Absentmindedly he started to toy with his fingers and Bokuto’s eyes darted to them.

“I need to start my routine now.” He tried hard to keep his voice even, projecting confidence about the subject even if he wasn’t feeling it, and even if he know Bokuto could see through it like glass. “Will you be alright on your own here?”

Bokuto nodded quickly, then his expression complicated. “Do you want me to do it with you? I can come with.”

Keiji shook his head immediately, then rectified. The thought of Bokuto watching him was embarrassing. “I’d rather do it by myself, if thats okay.”

“Of course!” Bokuto leaned back against Keiji’s pillows. The sight of him, freshly-showered in his night clothes, languid with exhaustion and sinking into Keiji’s bed sent a rush of heat through his body, which he shoved out of his head as soon as he thought of. Bokuto smiled obvlious. “I’ll be here.”

“I’ve got Netflix on my laptop if you want to watch something. The passwords just my name and birthday.” Keiji added on, “I might take a while.”

“Okay!”

He left as Bokuto reached for the laptop, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Moving almost automatically his feet took him to the end of the hallway. There was a large window letting in the sunset right above the landing, locked. He watched the rolling clouds before doing anything. Birds were chirping and flying just at the horizon, free.

With tentative fingers Keiji pushed the window. It didn’t budge. _Locked._

He pulled back. He clicked the lock off and then back on. He pushed again. It didn’t budge.

_It is locked._

It was as if Keiji was in a trance. He couldn’t make himself move away. Sweat was building at the nape of his neck just _thinking_ about leaving the window only checked twice. Again, he flicked the lock off and back on. He pushed against it, harder. It didn’t budge.

Four times he did this. His muscles only relaxed after he clicked the lock on that fourth time, as he pressed against the window to find it still unmoving.

 _Locked._ He moved the handle down so it was perfectly straight at 90 degrees.

His breathing steadies as he pulls his hands back to his chest. His feet carry him to the next window of the house.

_Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked._

There are 48 window locks in Keiji’s home. His mother had wanted to switch the grand three-panelled windows which decorated most of their rooms to singles to minimise the amount of locks that would need to be checked each and every night, but the idea of the windows coming _out_ of the walls filled child Keiji with such great anxiety that the idea had been scrapped almost immediately, everyone instead choosing to just accept the long and lengthy routine.

Keiji’s parents don’t even sigh when he enters their bedroom anymore. His mother doesn’t look up from her tablet. His father is already curled away from her, asleep.

There are five window locks in here. A triple window and two small, boxy ones. Keiji checks them all, patient, one after the other. His parents don’t talk to him. He leaves without saying a word, shutting the door behind him.

When he reaches Kazumi’s door he stalls. This is the room that always takes the longest because it chokes him up. He has to fight his body to get through the door, let alone make it to the windows. Tentatively he places his palm on the knob but his hands are sweating. He doesn’t turn it.

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself.

Bad memories of this room flooded him until his heart was floating in this throat, threatening to spill out onto the floor. He clenched his jaw and forced the knob.

Kazumi was laying on his bed, headphones around his ears, curled onto his side in sleep. He wore an oversized hoodie with some band Keiji didn’t know emblazoned on. A cool breeze drifted in, shifting his hair.

Like this he looked younger; his forehead lines blurred out and his hands no longer curled into fists. Keiji shut the window. Locked it. Locked it three more times, straightened the handle and left.

He had made his way around almost the entire house.

Checking the time would throw him off so he didn’t do that, instead walking the short distance to the final room in need of checking: his room. He opened the door gently in case Bokuto was asleep.

His assumption wasn’t far off: Bokuto lay in the centre of the bed still atop the covers, curled on his side with the laptop resting on the pillow. When Keiji opened the door his head lifted, drowsily.

“Akaashi?” He said, quiet. “Are you done?”

“Almost,” Keiji whispered. Bokuto gave him a sleepy smile and lay his cheek on his arms, front pressed almost entirely into Keiji’s pillow. Keiji smiled back. “Go to sleep, Bokuto-san.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

Keiji bit his lip. He was too tired to fight his overwhelming affection, so he just nodded. Bokuto closed his eyes.

Keiji walked over to the window, embarrassed and aware that Bokuto was could be watching him. Nervous as his fingers met the glass he looked over his shoulder, but soon saw that Bokuto still had his eyes shut. Keiji allowed himself ten seconds to look at him, eyes roaming his soft, sleepy face before continuing.

 _Unlock. Lock. Push._ Again again again.

Quietly he slipped from the room to the bathroom, where the windows were now certainly locked. He brushed his teeth, picking the toothbrush up from the left side of the holder, leaving it on the right side when he finishes.

Then: the final steps. He goes back down the stairs to the door leading to the garden. Four times he checks it. It is locked. He switches off the light. He goes to the front door and checks it four times. Also locked. He switches off all the downstairs lights.

Finally satisfied, the coil in his chest unravels and he can breathe. He is so, so tired, the act of worrying being a physically draining sport for him _._

When he opens the door to his room he is met with soft snoring from Bokuto, curled tightly into a ball, hair splayed wildly over the pillow, Netflix still quietly playing in the background. Keiji bites his lip.

Carefully he takes the laptop and places it neatly on the desk, careful to line it up correctly with the edge and the surrounding stationary, and, without thinking, lifts his blankets to cover Bokuto’s shoulders. Bokuto continues snoring, dead to the world. Keiji pushes the hair from his forehead and presses his lips to Bokuto’s skin, lingering a second longer than he maybe should, and then presses another kiss to Bokuto’s curled fist.

Keiji pulls back the futons on the floor and climbs in, drifting off to blissful slumber watching the rise and fall of Bokuto’s chest an arms length away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a big chapter for akaashi !! i hope you like it i did a lot of research.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> this chapter showcases one of Akaashi's O.C.D. rituals in a lot of depth, which I mention as I know some people with O.C.D. read this and I would hate to trigger anyone !! If you want to skip then it is the majority of the fourth segment - from the line "He left as Bokuto reached for the laptop, shutting the door behind him with a soft click." onwards !


	9. heavy-handed, loud-footed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cause i’m just waiting patiently, darling  
> i’m just singing at the trees and starlings  
> all i want to do is dance with you darling  
> away from all of their hands and harming  
> i'm just waiting there for you
> 
> -darling, adam barnes

The Garden Store was not particularly hulking or impressive from the outside,looking like every other building fighting for the space to exist in the towns promenade, but Keiji had still found himself still nervous to walk inside. Something about going into a building for the first time would never fail to make him feel out of place, and perhaps it would be fair to attribute at least forty percent of his nerves to a certain person who would be working today.

But everything felt worth it to see Bokuto like this. To see Bokuto at _all,_ really.

Bokuto was sat on a wheely-stool in his emerald green apron, his hair bristling softly as he turned from a customer back to the shelves, his shoulders were tensing with movement, using a plastic device to stick orange stickers to the back of handheld shovels and placing them back onto their shelves with vigor.

Keiji was stood slumped against the shelves pretending to examine bags of fertiliser so he wouldn’t get kicked out for distracting the staff.

“And _thats_ why me and Kuroo are banned from the convenience store by Kenma’s house!”

Bokuto delivered the story with glee, eyes flittering shut and chest puffing out once he finished, evidently proud of this _achievement_. His positively glowed when he talked about Kuroo. Keiji hadn’t quite realised how close the two were. He itched to humor Bokuto, to hear more.

“Fascinating. Are you and Kuroo in the habit of causing a ruckus?”

“Well, he lives a bit far away so we can’t see each other very often. We message each other a lot though!”

He continued to sticker the shovels, though albeit sadder. Keiji noted how neat the bow on the back of his apron was: his mother must have tied it.

“Kuroo sounds like fun.”

“You talk about him like you’ve never met him before ‘Kaashi.”

“Well, I don’t know him very well,” Keiji pointed out. “Not like you do.”

Bokuto perked up.

“We should all hang out when he next comes up! I think you two would get along well.”

“Really?” Keiji cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah!”

“He doesn’t really seem the type who would enjoy my company.”

“What do you mean?” Bokuto tilted his head.

“Well, he’s very much like … you, not me.”

“Exactly!”

“What?”

“He’s like me, and _I’m_ me, and I like you a lot! So he _must_ like you too.”

Bokuto sounded so excited that Keiji couldn’t help but chuckle and go along with it, even if the words burned like a brand on the inside of his chest.

_I like you a lot I like you a lot I like you a lot I like you a lot._

“Alright, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto beamed. He finished sticking the orange stickers to the shovels and stood up, kicking the stool further down the isle and depositing himself back onto it in its new, further-along position. He fiddled with the sticker-guns pricing and then picked up a handheld rake in his other hand, now labelling them at _500yen._ Keiji walks along and pretends to look at birdbaths now just to remain close, offering companionable silence for a while as Bokuto hummed some pop under his breath.

“Akaashi-” Bokuto begins suddenly, and cuts himself off. His jaw is tight as he thinks. Uncharacteristic. Keiji is immediately curious.

“Yes?”

Bokuto puts a hand into his own hair and gently tugs at it. “Are we- what are we, Akaashi?”

Keiji’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, are we-” a customer walks past them. Both of their eyes follow her as she picks up the bag of fertiliser Keiji was leaning against earlier and leaves. Their eyes meet again once they’re certain she’s left. “-are we, _you know,_ are we- are we _dating_?”

Keiji’s brows raise. Bokuto’s expression was complicated. His eyes kept going to Keiji’s and then darting away, unable to focus long.

Keiji had not expected to be having this conversation in the middle of The Garden Store, or really anywhere other than the safe and lonely confines of his own bedroom. He funnelled his thoughts into words, forcing them out even though it left him so vulnerable and open.

“Yes? I would like that,” Keiji says, voice kept even though he was beating his nerves with a stick internally. “If you’d also like that.”

“Yes!” Bokuto says quickly, almost dropping the rake he was holding in his hurry. “Yeah. I’d also like that!”

Keiji paused for a second before allowing the smile to spread his face like butter. He nodded jerkily. Bokuto was glowing. Another customer ran past. Keiji had to move out of the way for her, now leaning on the opposite side of the shelves. From this angle he could see the broadest part of Bokuto’s back, just below his shoulders, tensing as he finished up the menial task.

Keiji couldn’t help but voice the other thought circling his head.

“I think we should keep it quiet, though.”

Keiji watched the sudden tense of his back. He put whatever was in his hands back on the shelf, and turned on his stool to face Keiji. His bottom lip was pressed in between his teeth.

“Us? You want to keep _us_ quiet?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to tell anyone?”

Bokuto hid his emotions poorly. Keiji could hear the hurt thick in his tone.

“It’s not- it’s not because of you,” he insist. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling the anxiousness building in him like a house, making a home there right in his head. He had to keep Bokuto from spiralling. Perhaps this _wasn’t_ the best place for this conversation. “It’s because of me.”

“Mhmm.”

“Bokuto-san. I’m serious.”

Bokuto didn’t respond. Keiji wanted to put a hand to his shoulder, or to smooth the lines between his brows with his thumb, but the thought of doing so in public made his stomach churn. Anybody could walk in at any moment. His _mother_ could. He had to give Bokuto _something._ He lowered his voice.

“Just for a little bit. Until I’m out.”

Bokuto looked up at him with wide, wounded eyes like a doe, but he didn’t argue. He nodded, tilted his head a bit. His hands hung limp in his lap.

“Because we’re both boys?”

Footsteps echoed from the end of the isle. Keiji was hyper-attuned to them. They walked away.

Keiji nodded. There was a golfball in his throat, drying his tongue.

Bokuto nodded, understanding. Keiji knew he would.

“Okay. But- I don’t know how long I can go before telling _somebody._ Kuroo, my mom-”

“If you need to tell someone thats okay!” Keiji interrupted, quick. “I just- I’m not ready for everyone to know yet.”

Bokuto nodded. A small, sad smile ghosted his lips. It didn’t suit him at all.

—

When his father drank his coffee too quickly the foam collected in his thick, dark moustache. It was singlehandedly the reason Keiji swore off facial hair.

The dim evening light from the window made the whole kitchen darker. It looked more sinister like this: without the warm orange of the sun the white tile looked cold and distant: like a hospital for the terminally ill, or the place they send old relatives when nobody wants to look after them anymore.

The glass clinked when his father set it back on the table. Dully Keiji wished that they had coasters- they seemed to fit the house’s immoderate aesthetic.

Would this be what Keiji looked like when he grew up? Already he bore a great resemblance to Kazumi- would they both take after their weedy father or their calculated mother?

Keiji was inclined to think the latter for the sole reason that his similarities to her were a far longer list than his father, but his father still existed in Keiji’s bones, in his wiring. Though he had gotten his mothers cold demeanour and her colouring and her nose and her inability to let feelings reside somewhere outside her chest, Keiji had inherited his fathers height, and the deep hood of his eyes. Perhaps the facial hair would grow in time and the receding hair line would follow soon after, the interest in boring newspapers and the vaguely unfunny humour: the tendency to enjoy a drink bit more than is strictly customary.

The more he thought about it the more Keiji dreaded the thought of resembling _either_ of his parents. He had always worried Kazumi had snatched the good genes and left Keiji with the leftover scraps and the direction of his current train of thought supported that.

He may not _like_ Kazumi, but it was impossible to deny the fact that he was, objectively, better than Keiji in almost every way; smarter, funnier, the perfect balance between uptight and relaxed. In another universe where Keiji was not Keiji and instead a normal, regular teenage boy he knows Kazumi would have been the perfect older brother he would have sought after.

Just not in this one. As always, it was Keiji’s own fault. He couldn’t blame others for things he had brought upon himself.

“How did you and mom meet?”

His father looked up at him, chewing his food down and swallowing before answering. His throat bobbed as he did.

“Why?”

“Just wondering.”

His father contemplated. He moved the food around on his plate with the fork, not looking particularly pleased with it, though he continued to eat it anyway, eyes glancing up to Keiji every now and again.

“It’s not particularly romantic, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t care. It’s just weird.”

“What is?”

“That we don’t talk about this sort of thing. Ever.”

His father raised an eyebrow. It will still meters away from his hairline. “Didn’t think you’d be interested in this sort of thing.”

“I’m not.” His father looked unimpressed.

“Well, you’re asking.”

“Bokuto knows how his parents met.”

“We aren’t Bokuto’s parents, Keiji.”

“Just tell me, please.”

“Alright,” he shrugged. Keiji thought that he might have looked somewhat fond to be recounting the story of the great love of his life but he didn’t. His face was as severe as ever, talking as though he was rattling off statistics. “We went to school together. She was in my accounting class.”

“You were high school sweethearts?” Keiji couldn’t help the way his nose scrunched at the thought. His father just laughed.

“God, _no._ Your mother switched over to law a few weeks in. I didn’t speak to her for years.”

Keiji waited for the story to continue. It didn’t, so he prodded. “And?”

“I ran into her at the bar a few years later. Bought her a drink, went for dinner. That was it, really.”

Keiji blinked. He wasn’t _kidding_ when he said it wasn’t romantic. Keiji couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the response. His father continued eating.

“Do you want some bacon? Think I’ve made too much.”

“No, thank you.” He still hadn’t found what he was looking for. “What made you realise you loved her, then?”

His father coughed. They _never_ spoke about things like this.“Are you sure you’re not a romantic, Keiji?”

“Intellectual curiosity.”

“Why?” His dad paused. “Why now? Are _you_ in love?”

“No,” he lied cooly, praying for the flush not to rise to his cheeks. “I just want to know. You’ve never told me before.”

“I’m not sure when I realised, really. It wasn’t a sudden thing,” he pushed his plate away and rested his head on his hands. He was still dressed in his impeccable suit, resembling something closer to Keiji’s boss than his father. “I just knew it one day.”

“Do you still love her?”

Silence. Keiji stared blankly: intellectual curiosity and all. His father didn’t reply. He tilted his head, a mannerism he knew he had absorbed from Bokuto.

“Is that a no?”

“Love is complicated, Keiji.” His father stood up and rubbed at his jaw. “You’ll understand one day.”

Keiji hoped not, if thats what love was.

Perhaps he was destined to live this cold, loveless life, an echo of his parents and their parents and their parents before. Emotions had never been Keiji’s strong-suit, maybe they weren’t a suit for him at all, more of the slosh at the bottom of the cup of Keiji’s _intellectual curiosity._ The Akaashi’s didn’t do _love,_ why did Keiji think he would be any different? Was anyone in his family happy?

Maybe, no matter how desperately he wanted love, it simply wasn’t on the table for him. Love was a glass vase that the Akaashi’s sidestepped because they didn’t know how to be anything but heavy-handed, loud-footed, and the second they came into the vicinity of it they would smash it into a thousand unfixable pieces. That was the way Keiji had been born and raised. Perhaps he simply wasn’t capable of resisting it. He would take a bat to Bokuto’s steely heart and apologise for the aftermath. Would Bokuto ever forgive him? He should run now.

His lineage was a well-worn river. Keiji had no choice but to flow in the predestined path.

—

“I can’t believe nationals is in, like, a month or something,” Bokuto says, slamming a volleyball over the net with astounding strength. After the connection his head swivels to Keiji. “Toss to me again?”

“Of course,” Keiji says and picks up another ball. “As if I’d ever say no.”

“It’s polite to ask anyway, Akaashi!”

“Even though you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“As my dad would say-” he cleared his throat, pitched his voice slightly lower, furrowed his brows. “- _big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite them.”_

He delivered the words like they were great wisdom. Keiji blinked. “I don’t think you’re using that proverb correctly.”

“Of course I am!”

Keiji set the ball. Bokuto spiked it with force. It ricocheted off the gyms floor and bounced twice before settling. Bokuto grinned at Keiji.

“That was a good one!”

He smiled. “It was.”

“Keep going!”

Keiji did, tossing ball after ball to Bokuto, who spiked each and every one of them cleanly over the net. He was in top form. When he landed back on the floor Keiji could see the red ringing his fingertips from the force of the slam. How had he been watching Bokuto for years and still finding himself awestruck?

Watching Bokuto succeed so greatly filled his lungs with nostalgia, reminding him of the first day he had ever seen Bokuto play. The ball he went to toss remained stagnant in his fingertips. Bokuto ran but didn’t jump, looking at Keiji with confusion.

“Akaashi?”

“Ask me why I came to Fukurodani.”

Bokuto cocked his head to the side. “What?”

Keiji held the volleyball tighter, relying on the stability it gave him. “Ask me why I came to Fukurodani.”

“Why did you come to Fukurodani?” Bokuto asked it slowly, like he was cautious of being led into a trap; like he was worried about being the butt of a joke.

Everybody knew the story except Bokuto. Their teammates had told Keiji _“you can’t tell him. We won’t be able to handle his ego if you say THAT!”_

It was different now though. Bokuto and Keiji had agreed to open themselves up to each other, slowly. This had nothing to do with the team. It had everything to do with how he felt about Bokuto, and how he wanted Bokuto to feel.

“Do you remember you had a match in your first year? It was against Senzan, I think,” Keiji paused. “You played as number 12. Benched for most of the game, you weren’t a starter yet. You were bought in just towards the end, I think it was for a pinch serve.”

The fact that Keiji knew all the intricacies of this match spoke for itself. Bokuto watched him, completely in awe, and Keiji tried to remain strong under the gaze. The match was before he had even become a student at Fukurodani and yet he listed off things like Bokuto’s jersey number.

Bokuto nodded, eyes widened. “I remember, yeah.” His mouth hung open slightly. Keiji forced his eyes upwards.

“I hadn’t really been invested in volleyball before. I enjoyed it but it was just, you know, a hobby for me. Because I thought _‘there’s no way I’m going to even be close to professionally playing.”_

“You got in on a recommendation though, right Akaashi? You must have been good!”

“That was moreso for my grades. The sports was a bonus.”

Bokuto nodded along, listening intently. Keiji breathed.

“But then I saw you. You’d been benched most of the game, but you came on and there was this- this _aura_ about you. I remember thinking that you would make it. I knew you would.” He paused. “I remember thinking that you were a star.”

His face burned recounting it, but it was entirely worth it for the expression on Bokuto’s face. He looked as though Keiji had cupped the sun in his hands and offered it as a gift. He looked as though Keiji was not just a boy but a god, like his words had touched some deep part inside of him that was left placid and tranquil otherwise.

Both of them were flushing. Bokuto opened his mouth a few times but clenched his jaw shut. Keiji shuffled his feet a little.

“Yeah,” he finished lamely. “So that’s why I came to Fukurodani, I guess.” He laughed a little, embarrassed, self-depreciating. “I followed you.”

Bokuto crossed the gym in a heartbeat. Keiji dropped the volleyball he was holding when Bokuto’s fingertips grazed his jaw and pressed their lips gently together. Keiji rested his hands on the divots just north of Bokuto’s hips, the heat palpable on his fingertips even through the jersey. There was a candle in the space between their mouths and every time the pulled apart they fuelled the flame, every time they reattached the fire engulfed them.

Heat pooled in the brunt of his chest, spiralling outward as Bokuto’s hands moved, brushed the side of Keiji’s eyes and tangled in his unruly hair. He could feel it in his biceps, in his fingertips, his thighs. His hands moved to palm the broadest part of Bokuto’s back, the muscles shifting beneath his hands every time Bokuto breathed. He could feel the irregularities in it when Keiji moved his mouth faster, when he stroked a thumb across the jut of his hip. Keiji wanted to crawl inside of Bokuto and make a home in his chest.

When they pulled apart to breathe Bokuto pressed their cheeks together in a gesture that was more intimate than Keiji was used to. Keiji could see the sheen of sweat collecting on Bokuto’s jaw and curling the tips of his hair, feel his breaths against the shell of his ear. Then Bokuto swept him into an engulfing hug and Keiji could feel the smile pressed into his jaw.

“Really?” Bokuto asked. Keiji laughed, feeling utterly ridiculous, hands resting on Bokuto’s shoulders. “You mean it? You followed me?”

Keiji was breathless. He pulled Bokuto closer. “Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The story updates every sunday for anyone wondering :)) thank you for reading this far!!)


	10. king, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and in the morning, you adored me 'til the sun went down  
> and then i knew you were the one i couldn't live without  
> if i'm honest, it felt like love  
> and you said, stay here, darling  
> don't you worry 'bout a thing, don't you worry 'bout a thing
> 
> -dont you worry, oh wonder

Bokuto comes over again that Friday, the two of them spending more time together than they ever did apart. They lay on Keiji’s bed- Bokuto’s head pillowed on Keiji’s stomach. Soft music plays from one corner of the room and Keiji listens to it with his eyes closed, content to just stroke Bokuto’s hair as he makes happy noises of approval, scrolling through some social media on his phone. It was the most comfortable he had been in a while.

“Look, Akaashi, it’s us!”

Keiji blinks his eyes open to Bokuto’s phone screen, opened onto some instagram photo: two frogs sitting on a rock, their webbed hands (feet? Keiji wasn’t sure) resting on one another. One of them held a flower beneath its hand, its head ducked below the others neck. Both their eyes stared into the camera intensely. In a white, curling font at the bottom of the photo it said _“froggies in love”._ Keiji blinked.

“Which one am I?” Keiji asked curiously.

“The big one,” Bokuto says without hesitation, as if he had already given thought to this. “Because I want to be the one with the flower.”

“Thanks.”

“Also because the little one’s getting cuddled like that, and I really want to get cuddled like that.”

Keiji smiled and rolled his eyes. Bokuto went back to scrolling on his phone, head positioned back on Keiji’s stomach. Keiji softly batted him with his foot, moving.

“Sit up then.”

Bokuto groaned. “But I’m so comfy.” He nuzzled his face further into Keiji’s stomach, dropping his phone in favour of wrapping his arms around Keiji’s torso.

“I thought you wanted to cuddle.”

“Oh,” Bokuto processed, and then sat up quickly, eyes like saucers. “Yes! Okay!”

They had hugged before, countless times. How different could this be? Keiji stretched out his arms, motioning with his hands, and Bokuto crawled between the open stretch of his legs.

There was immediate, searing contact where their thighs pressed together. Bokuto ducked his head to Keiji’s collarbone, ( _not unlike the positioning of the frogs,_ Keiji thought) and Keiji gently rested his chin atop Bokuto’s shower-loose hair. His arms enclosed around Bokuto’s shoulders. Bokuto’s held his back.

It was warm, holding him like this. Warmer than he thought it would be. There was Bokuto’s soft breathing on his neck. It was intimate. Bokuto started humming softly after a moment.

“I can feel that,” Keiji said, then clarified at the subsequent hum of confusion. “When you hum I can feel it vibrate against my neck.”

“Really?” Bokuto asked, and then hummed into his neck again.

Keiji let out a surprised bout of laughter. Bokuto pulled back quickly, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” Keiji said, embarrassed at his outburst. “That tickled.”

Before Keiji could register the scheming look on his face and respond appropriately Bokuto had put his lips to Keiji’s jaw once again and hummed into the smooth skin, vibrating against it audibly, forcing Keiji’s body to react without thinking, a giggle erupting from his chest.

“Stop, Bokuto-san! Oh my _god-”_

He hummed again. Keiji pushed him away.

“Nooooo, come back!”

Bokuto whined, extending his arms out to motion Keiji back with his hands. Keiji looked over, warily, face flushed and the remnants of a smile twitching the corners of his lips upward.

“No way.”

“Akaashi pleaaaaase!” Bokuto made to move towards him, and Keiji scooted backwards until he could feel the metal headboard. “I won’t do it again! I won’t hum! I just want to cuddle.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Akaashi I will _die_ if you don’t cuddle me right now.”

Akaashi responded playfully. “I don’t think that’s strictly true.”

“It is! Now that you’ve cuddled me I know how it _feels,_ and I can’t go back now. I’m addicted. If you ever stop cuddling me I will _die,_ Akaashi.”

“That sounds incredibly inconvenient.”

“It is!”

“How will you attend your classes?”

“You’ll have to come with me. You’ll have to sit in my lap and hold me while I write.”

A part of Keiji throbbed at the thought. He willed it away as fast as he could. “Your teachers probably wouldn’t be very impressed by that.”

“That’s because they’ve never cuddled _you._ They wouldn’t understand.”

Bokuto stretched out over Keiji’s bed. A thick band of skin was visible on his stomach. Keiji wanted to touch it.

“And how will you play volleyball?” Bokuto’s brows tensed immediately and Keiji would have laughed were he not playing coy and putting all of his thought into flirting. “You can’t be the ace if we’re attached.”

“Sure I could. I’m strong! I could carry you on my back!”

“But then I couldn’t set for you.”

Bokuto paused. “Okay, maybe we can’t cuddle _all_ the time.”

Keiji laughed. Bokuto flopped dramatically on his side, curling away from Keiji.

“Okay, don’t cuddle me then. It’s _fine.”_ Keiji rolled his eyes. “I will just lay here…away from you…by myself.”

He punctuated all his points with long, expansive silences in between, stretching the words out as much as possible with his practiced dramatics. Keiji prodded him.

“Please don’t sulk, Bokuto-san.”

“I’m not sulking,” Bokuto replied sulkily.

Keiji gave in. Faster than he’d like to admit he crawled across his bedsheets, dropping his weight down and curling himself around Bokuto’s back. Bokuto made an immediate sound of happiness and allowed himself to be held for just a moment, before flipping to face Keiji.

“Comfortable?” Keiji asked. Bokuto was warm. Keiji could feel it on his face when he breathed.

“Very! We should do this more often.”

“We should.”

“I like cuddling!”

“I can see,” Keiji retorted. Then, after consideration, “so do I.”

Bokuto beamed and tucked his head back into Keiji’s neck.

Keiji let his eyes drift shut, content to lay in silence with Bokuto and be absorbed into their shared, soft breathing, into this shared quiet moment. He imagined what they’d look like from an outside perspective; two boys in the third person, curled around each other like question marks, deeply and irrefutably in love. He wondered what his parents would see if they saw them: two devils, committing atrocious and irredeemable sin and surely destined for hell. Not for the first time he longed for a lock on his door.

Before he could dwell on the thought he was snapped out of it by Bokuto’s shifting.

“Bokuto-san?” Keiji asked. He moved to look down at the boy but realised a second too late. “Bokuto-san _no!-”_

Bokuto pressed his lips to the expanse of Keiji’s neck and hummed. Keiji’s loud laughter echoed around the formerly-empty house.

—

Kazumi was in the living room lounging on the plush, grey couch, eyes trained on some film, when Keiji walked in.

“Has Bokuto gone home?” He asked as Keiji sat down on the opposite end.

“Yeah.”

“He seemed well.” Kazumi eyed him and sighed. “Man, it really has been a while. I missed everyone.”

“Could you teach me to drive?”

No point sidestepping. Keiji dropped the bomb straight into Kazumi’s lap and took joy in the widening of his eyes.

“Me?” He gaped. Keiji stared. “Why?”

“Mom and dad won’t teach me.” He didn’t elaborate on the _why_ of _that_.

“You could just get an instructor.”

“No, I don’t- no.”

“So you want _me_ to teach you?” Keiji opened his mouth but Kazumi quickly put his arms out, as if to physically stop Keiji from saying something that would indicate a change of mind. “No, I’ll do it. Yeah, let’s -now?”

“Now?” Keiji repeated, and stalled. “Well I was thinking maybe starting next week or something-”

“No no no, let’s start now! Why put off tomorrow what can be done today?”

Kazumi jumped off of the couch and switched whatever he was watching off in one go. The room felt ten degrees hotter.

“Kazumi, no, I don’t think-”

“Yeah, come on! Mom and dad aren’t home, let’s go!”

Not ten minutes later Keiji was sat in the passenger seat of Kazumi’s Honda Civic, Kazumi behind the wheel and driving them along some long, deserted stretch of street.

“Where are we going?” Keiji asked, dubious.

“Somewhere empty. Can’t have you practicing on the busy streets.”

Even though there was distaste on his half, Keiji supposed it _would_ be out of character for his brother to drive him to the middle of nowhere to dump his body.

“Here,” Kazumi said after a while. They were behind some empty train station, the streets around remote and empty, not barren but quiet. “Come on, switch with me. Get in the drivers seat.”

Keiji was behind the wheel for the first time in his life. Even without the engine running he could feel the electric current pulsing through him. He stretched his hands out around the wheel, obsessed with the way his fingers curled around it.

“Okay, so, I’ve never taught anyone before. Lets just run through some stuff before we start, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So theres three pedals- wait, are you comfy? In the chair, I mean. It might need adjusting.”

“Uh,” Keiji surveyed, moved his feet experimentally. He and Kazumi were roughly the same size. “I think I’m good.”

“Okay, so, the pedals. There’s three. One on the left is clutch, middle is break, right is gas.”

“Yes.” Keiji already knew this. He had spent countless evenings reading about driving and cars and how they worked, theoretically. He just wanted to put it to the practical test. He wanted to _go._

“Left foot always stays on the clutch. Only use your _right_ foot on the gas and breaks.”

“Okay,” Keiji said. “Can we go?”

“Hang on, uh, oh!,” Kazumi fiddled with the centre console, hands brushing over the gearstick and the hand break. He repeated their names out loud as he went. “- we’re gonna want to stay in first gear, okay? Reverse is here-” he pretended to move the gear stick, “-you gotta lift this bit up. Handbreak here. Make sure you release it properly- it sticks.”

“I’m turning the engine on,” Keiji said, and he did. The car shut off immediately.

“And _that_ is what you get for being hasty!” Kazumi looked proud of himself. Keiji rolled his eyes. “You gotta clutch down to start. Left foot all the way down.”

Keiji did as he was told. The car roared to life.

“Hands on the wheel!”

He could feel the whole car rumbling beneath him. Pure, barely-restrained power in his hands. Would he ever feel this powerful again in his life?

“Okay. Okay! Every time you shift gears you gotta press the clutch the whole way down so just keep your foot there, but also you gotta press on the gas before the clutch is the whole way up or you’ll stall the car.”

“Okay,” Keiji said and took a moment to process. “Okay.”

He shifted the car into first.

“Now ease up on clutch and press on the gas at the same time.”

He did.

“Little more gas, quick!”

There was a quiet roar, and the car began slowly moving forward.

“It’s moving!” Keiji exclaimed.

“It is! Now come on, get the car up to 10 miles!”

The car gradually picked up speed, still going slow but ever so slightly faster. Keiji felt powerful. He felt in control.

“Now you’re gonna indicate left. The dial right next to the wheel there-” Kazumi pointed and Keiji’s eyes flitted to it quickly. “-press it down.”

He did. The car ticked quietly.

“Turn the wheel, stay in your lane!”

Keiji did it. He turned left, and then indicated left again, and drove ten miles an hour down winding, endless roads until his legs ached.

“Right turns are a bit more difficult. Maybe next time-”

“No, let’s do one now.”

Kazumi paused for a second, but then laughed.

“Someone’s eager.”

Keiji shifted but he couldn’t hide it. “Maybe.”

Kazumi laughed again and shook his head.

“Okay, right turns are about judgement. You’ve got to cross a lane to get there and also stay on your side. It’s harder to do safely.”

The roads were all completely empty so Kazumi walked him through it with relative ease. Keiji indicated (this time by flicking the lever up) and turned right.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling into the road. “That was a bit too wide-”

“That was amazing!” Kazumi cheered him on. Keiji turned slightly and saw Kazumi was grinning, wide and genuine. “God, it’s not even been an hour and you’re doing this shit. Come on, let’s go to second gear!”

For a second Keiji contemplated this version of Kazumi. What would this lesson have gone like with his parents instead, who refused to teach him out of fear of being in the car with him? Their reasoning must have fallen to either lack of faith in Keiji or lack of trust. What if it was some nameless teacher he was unfamiliar with? Could he even get into the car with them, knowing there would be no immediate escape if things went wrong?

Isn’t that what he was worried about with Kazumi?

This Kazumi cheered for him. This Kazumi believed in him enough to urge him up a gear, to trust Keiji’s judgement when he says he’s ready to do more. Someone who didn’t infantilise him for his illness. Someone who treated him like the fucking _adult_ he was.

Without thinking Keiji put his foot on the clutch. With his left hand he shifted into second gear and the car lurched forward slightly. He pressed down more on the gas to compensate.

“Yes! Oh my god!” Kazumi rolled down a window with practiced dramatics. With a quick glance Keiji saw that he had closed his eyes and was letting the wind ruffle his hair. “You’re doing so well.”

Keiji could barely contain his laugh as he turned right at the roads end, shifting near seamlessly between first and second. The cars engine purred beneath his grip.

He was a king. He was a king. He was a _king._

_—_

Once a week Keiji liked to sort out his desk. It never got overly messy, given the particular standards he held it to, but the act of organising it freshly was something that filled him with the brand of overwhelming calm he so often sought.

He would always start on the left and work clockwise: another thing he tended to do without thinking. He pulled out the top drawer and emptied it’s contents onto the bed, sending all his pens and pencils clattering into chaotic piles.

The tidied drawer looked almost identical to the way it did before; the only difference was Keiji’s peace of mind. He turned to the next drawer and went through the exact same process- emptying it out onto his bed, neatly picking at the contents and fixing them into straighter piles, fitting them all back into place until he was content.

The room was dead silent. He didn’t like to have music on while he did tasks like this, which required his utmost concentration.

Somewhere across the room his phone buzzed. He ignored it. He couldn’t look at it until he had finished fixing his desk or something bad would happen.

Gradually he worked his way around, but on the fourth drawer ( _four. His lucky number four. Everything good happened in fours)_ Keiji noticed something was wrong.

The drawer was neat, with all his chargers and cables looped neatly around themselves and tied with colour-coded zip-ties to keep them that way, but he immediately noticed the difference.

Something was missing.

His watch was missing. It was a gift he had received from his elderly grandparents on the Christmas after he turned fourteen. It was expensive and gold, and had broken after only a year of him wearing it. Rather than just fixing it his parents bought him a brand new one, but Keiji had found himself unable to throw it away. Instead he made a home for it in the shallow desk drawer, where it sat unwinding all year round.

It wasn’t there. The cables were as he left them but the watch was displaced.

For a second Keiji worried his lip, _maybe I moved it,_ but immediately knew he was not wrong about this. Why would he have moved it? He didn’t. He rooted around the drawer quickly to check the watch hadn’t gotten stuck on anything or wedged itself to the back. When it was apparent the watch wasn’t in there he removed the drawer from the desk and tipped the contents onto the bed.

Just a pile of cables and chargers. Nothing else. No watch.

Confused and with a rapidly increasing heartrate Keiji pulled the next drawer out. He tipped that one onto the bed too but the only things falling out were loose papers and a collection of his favourite bookmarks. No watch.

He ripped out the next drawer. Nothing.

He went back on himself. _Maybe I missed it when I was sorting out the other drawers._

The newly organised drawers were removed and emptied too. The pile on his bed got taller and taller as he searched. It wasn’t there.

Keiji could feel his breath coming quicker. His hands clenched and unclenched convulsively without him meaning to, but he couldn’t stop it once he noticed.

 _Don’t be irrational,_ he warned himself, shut his eyes tight as if he could will the thoughts away. _It’s just a watch. It’s fine._

“Dad?” He said, rushing down the stairs. His father was tying his tie in the hall mirror and caught Keiji’s eye over his shoulder. “Have you seen my watch?”

His dad paused and shook his head. “It’s on your wrist, boy.”

“No, the old one.”

“The old one?” His dad looked puzzled. His thick eyes furrowed. “From your grandparents?” Keiji hummed. “I thought we threw that out.”

“I kept it in my fourth drawer, but it’s not there.” Keiji swallowed. “Have you touched it?”

“We aren’t allowed in your room.”

“So you didn’t?”

“Do you think I _did?”_

“Why are you talking like that? Just answer the question!”

Keiji could feel panic beginning to set into his bones. Irrational, uncontrollable panic. He lunged for the wheel but found it spinning out of his control.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Keiji. I am your father. I haven’t touched your watch.”

There were four other alternatives. Four people who could have meddled with the watch:

Kazumi could have taken it. He was the likely choice: a new addition to the house screwing with the dynamic. It wasn’t out of character at all.

His mother was the second alternative. The thought of her in his room, going through his stuff and seeing the old watch and deciding to throw it out was enough to make his skin crawl. Boundaries weren’t his mothers speciality. It also wouldn’t be out of character.

The third option was Bokuto.

He hated to consider it but, logically, Keiji knew Bokuto had the best opportunities out of anyone to go through his things. It would be easy: Keiji gets into the shower, Bokuto pockets his belongings. He forces the thought out of his head as quickly as it comes.

And the final option, the one that plays in his mind like a broken record, the one that sits in his stomach like lead, is that maybe, _maybe_ he didn’t check the windows well enough. That they weren’t properly locked. That while he was at school someone could have spotted the house and shimmied their way along one of the low-hanging ledges, prying their way inside.

He had read about stories like that often enough on the news: rich homeowners being broken into, losing televisions and pool tables and lives. Sure the robber had just taken a watch but whats to say that they weren’t going to come back for more now that they knew the Akaashi’s didn’t lock their windows properly?

It was his fault. Next time they would come with weapons. They would hold his mother hostage while his father begs. They would take the expensive chess set in the dining room and the ornate statues and plates his mother liked to display in cabinets, and it was Keiji’s fault for not checking well enough. His family could have died and it would have been his fault.

“Keiji, move, I need to get up to my room,” his father said roughly and Keiji realised he had zoned out still on the staircase, staring into his own eyes reflection in the mirror.

“Sorry.”

He sidestepped and his dad brushed past. Keiji could feel the crescent-moon indents his own fingernails had left in his palm.

This was how it would start: a home invasion with petty theft. It would end with torture and melting flesh and foreign hands touching all of the things he had so precariously laid out. His fault. His fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading !! all comments and kudos are incredibly incredibly appreciated <33


	11. son and moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every shooting star kiss  
> dreamt up each second class wish  
> dressed up as something more than a dream  
> oh i wish i was the moon  
> so that i might just see you  
> one last time  
>  -i wish i was the moon, ewan j phillips

“So, everyone, as we all know, we leave for nationals in three weeks.”

A chorus of cheers sounds out from the semi-circle of boys when the words leave Bokuto’s mouth. Bokuto, stood at the centre, raises his arms to join them in an echoing cacophony of hoots.

“That’s right! We’ve gotta keep the morale high! _Smooth seas do not make skilful sailors.”_

The proverb was not used in the entirely correct context but nobody corrected him. Bokuto was riding on a high nobody wanted to undermine. Keiji rested his cheek on his knee and watched with idle attention. Konoha raised his hand.

“Konoha?” Bokuto questioned.

“Isn’t this a little early for a morale speech? We’ve still got weeks of practice left.”

“It is _never_ too early for a morale speech. I’m going to be giving one every day of practice from now. Maybe twice per practice!”

“That seems redundant,” Onaga laughed.

“Would you prefer _no_ speeches?”

“No speeches means more practice time!”

“Yeah. Maybe we should scrap them altogether.”

“But guys,” Bokuto pouted. “Nekoma has their really cool speech. _We are like blood, flowing through a body, blood to a brain, Kenma, the brain.”_

His impression made the group laugh. Keiji knew if anyone was looking close enough they could see the fondness pooling in his eyes.

“You can’t just steal Nekoma’s speech Bokuto,” Komi laughed.

“Why not?”

“Thats, like, plagiarism or something. Akaashi?”

“Plagiarism,” Keiji confirmed.

“We just gotta come up with our own cool mantra then!” Sarukui continued. He cleared his throat dramatically and closed his eyes. When they opened again his voice was lower by six octaves, sounding impressively close to a cinema narrator.

 _“We are like birds in the night, swooping through the sky to deliver worms to the ace, Bokuto, and make a meal of our opponents.”_ He paused, and then added in the same dark tone. _“Hoot hoot.”_

Everyone burst out laughing again. Konoha kicked him.

“Thats so vulgar!” Bokuto protested and huffed. “I like Nekoma’s one more.”

“I like none. Lets ditch it!”

“These speeches are important! Akaashi, tell them!” Bokuto whined.

Bokuto calling his name in a non-private setting felt different now, forcing blood to his cheeks at this mundane and regular interaction. Hearing the name from Bokuto’s mouth brought back images of Bokuto’s lips on his, of the surging fire he got in his stomach when they _kissed,_ when they _held hands,_ when they did more than was allowed between friends. Because they weren’t friends, his mind supplied. They were _dating._

And they were keeping it secret. Keiji reminded himself of that constantly.

“I agree with Bokuto-san-”

“Big surprise there,” Komi whispered.

“-these speeches are good for morale. The more often we receive them the better, I think.”

“Exactly!” Bokuto looked proud of himself. It was hard for Keiji to force his eyes away when both of theirs met in the middle, watching each other. In a way it was almost equally as fun as it was painful keeping their relationship a secret, knowing that they had something nobody else in the room knew. It was like a game to see how far they could push it without being caught. Only the fact that his teammates were watching forced his eyes to glance away.

“And there are other things I think are important to talk about right now, too, along with my cool speech.”

This made everyone look upwards, curious. Keiji’s eyes rounded in question but it was as if Bokuto had never looked away from him. He clasped his hands together in front of him before opening his mouth to speak.

“As we all know, us third years will all be graduating soon, and so I have had to make the decision on who the next captain of Fukurodani will be.”

They all knew who it was going to be. Keiji tried not to get his hopes up _just incase_ but it went without saying. He was more concerned with the fact that the third years would soon be graduating.

“And so!” Bokuto clapped his hands together again. Keiji pretended not to notice all of the rooms eyes trained on him. “I would like to take this moment to ask if Akaashi Keiji would continue to captain Fukurodani after I am gone?”

Bokuto bowed. All Keiji could hear was his given name on Bokuto’s tongue: _Akaashi Keiji Akaashi Keiji Akaashi Keiji._

“Of course, Bokuto-san. I will do my best.”

Everyone erupted in cheers, clapping him on the shoulder and praising him as if they didn’t all know this was the obvious choice, the _only_ choice Bokuto could have made, but all the praise in the world fell deaf compared to Bokuto’s wide, beaming smile.

—

“What do you want to be when you’re older?”

Bokuto asked the question on their walk home that night after a late, _late_ private practice. They had gotten caught up in volleyball after Bokuto’s speech and in celebration of Keiji’s new captaincy, playing until the evening grew dark, and also caught up in not-strictly-sports-related practices but ones that caused Keiji to be out of breath nonetheless.

Keiji pondered, quietly kicking gravel as they walked in tandem. “I’m not too sure. What about you?”

Bokuto didn’t hesitate for a second. “I want to play volleyball.”

“Professionally?”

“Yeah!”

He thought about it, and then nodded. “I could see that.”

“Really?” Bokuto beamed. Keiji nodded again.

“Bokuto Koutarou, Japan’s ace. I could see you in the olympics. You could go that far.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.”

Bokuto got quiet after that and Keiji knew his words had made him happy. Bokuto had a scarf looped around his neck and he buried his face into it, equal parts happy and embarrassed.

“Mine seems silly compared to that.”

“No it’s _not,”_ Bokuto said immediately, then, “what do you want to be?”

Keiji chewed his lip. He pocketed his hands to avoid fidgeting.

“I used to want to be some sort of artist. Maybe an architect or something.”

“You can draw?” Bokuto asked, shocked, and now it was Keiji’s turn to flush in embarrassment, though he didn’t have a scarf to hide it in. “That’s so cool! You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m not that good,” he said hastily. “It’s just a hobby. Not like volleyball.”

“I’ve never seen you _not_ be great at anything! You have to show me your drawings some time! You don’t have them hung in your bedroom or anything.”

“Drawing is not something my parents deem as … entirely respectable.”

He tried to phrase it nicely, as if using more elaborate vocabulary could conceal the true message hidden in his words. Bokuto’s brows furrowed either way.

“Why not?”

“Well my family pride themselves on academics very much. They’d rather I don’t waste my time on these _meaningless extracurricular activities.”_ He side eyed Bokuto, wondering if he should finish the thought before deciding Bokuto should know. “If I weren’t achieving such high grades I don’t think they’d even let me do volleyball.”

“Really? But you’re so good at it! And even if you weren’t it’s something you enjoy, right?” Bokuto cocked his head like a lost puppy. “You aren’t a machine, Akaashi.”

The words hit a nerve deep in Keiji. Something inside moved, like the snow off a mountain in an avalanche, pushing all of his feelings to his stomach where they roiled like acid.

_You aren’t a machine._

Bokuto knew him. Bokuto understood him and cared about him and knew that beneath the steely exterior his mother had given him that Keiji was just a boy, with likes and dislikes and thoughts and feelings and opinions and emotions.

Most people didn’t look that far. Most people didn’t _treat_ him like that, unless they wanted something from him. Again and again Bokuto proved that he was nothing like anyone else Keiji had ever met.

“My parents don’t watch my games.”

It was a confession: the only words he could force out, and he pushed all of his emotions into them. He could feel Bokuto’s sad eyes on him but couldn’tlook into them.

Then, gently, there was a knock at the back of his hand, and he realised Bokuto had softly bumped his knuckles into Keiji’s, not grabbing his hand but giving Keiji the option, opening himself up again and again and again as he always did.

Against his better judgement Keiji looked over his shoulder. When he saw the empty roads he grabbed Bokuto’s hand and twined their fingers together.

“For what it’s worth,” Bokuto started, and Keiji could hear the earnestness dripping from his mouth like honey. “I think you’re amazing. The best, even.”

Bokuto swung at Keiji with a bat, hitting nerve after nerve out of the park. Keiji smiled slightly, forcing himself to look at Bokuto’s honest face.

“Thank you Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto grinned, and then Keiji realised.

“Bokuto-san, your house was a street ago. We’ve missed it.”

“I know!” Bokuto said with a grin. “I’m walking you home!”

Bokuto’s fingers were ever so slightly shorter than Keiji’s but they were thicker, his hand felt bigger and warmer and engulfing. Seemingly without realising he was rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of Keiji’s hand. Keiji thought about how someone would have to rip Bokuto away from him like velcro if they ever wanted to separate them.

“Earlier-” Keiji said before he could stop himself. The words wouldn’t stop ringing around his head. “When we were at practice and you declared me as Captain you-” he cleared his throat. He was _really_ doing this. “-You called me Akaashi Keiji.”

“Oh, yeah! I did!” Bokuto played it off but the reddening of his ears betrayed him. “That’s your name. I thought it would be more professional to use the whole thing.”

“Call me it again.”

His face was glowing hot, he could _feel_ it, but he schooled his expression into neutral as Bokuto spluttered, tightening the grip on Keiji’s hand. Both of their palms were sweaty.

“Now? You want me to call you it-”

“Yes.”

“Akaashi Keiji.”

The name must have been burning on the tip on his tongue because they fell out of his mouth immediately. Keiji’s heartbeat increased. Static built in his stomach.

“Bokuto-san, you don’t have to if you don’t want to but I-” again Keiji forced the words out over the lump in his throat. Bokuto rubbed his fingers, coaxing the words out of him. He cleared his throat again. “I would really like it if you called me Keiji when we’re alone.”

“Really?”

Keiji nodded, nervously avoiding Bokuto’s eyes.

“Only if you want to, though, I don’t want you to-”

“No, no I want to! I _really_ want to! Aka- Keiji.”

Both of their faces burnt. God, it never looked this embarrassing in the films.

Keiji felt exposed. Like in those dreams about going to school and realising you’re naked, except he got that exact same nauseous feeling from opening up to someone he deeply and inexplicably trusted. Curse his mother.

“I’d really like it if you called me Koutarou, too.”

Keiji nodded perhaps too quickly.

“Yes, I-” his voice sounded so needy, he was immediately overwhelmingly embarrassed. “I would love to.”

“Cool!” Bokuto grinned.

“Cool.”

“We’re almost at your house,” Bokuto changed the subject. Keiji nodded. Bokuto unlaced their fingers before they rounded the corner and Keiji ached at the loss.

They stopped a good distance away from the house, illuminated only by the dull orange of the streetlight and the moon. Keiji didn’t have neighbours. Bokuto played with the back of his neck. He had never walked Keiji home before.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” He said, smiling, but before he could turn away Keiji grasped for his arm.

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

Keiji scanned quickly and pulled Bokuto by the side-fencing of his house. The lights were all off inside: nobody was home. He manoeuvred them both until they were out of sight from the road and with Bokuto’s back to the wall, completely obscured by both a large tree and the wooden fencing separating Keiji’s side alley from his home.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto asked. Keiji could feel the rise and fall of his chest. “Keiji?”

He pressed his lips to Bokuto’s.

They had never kissed in the open before. The wind gently brushed both of their hair and soothed their skin, the goosebumps on Keiji’s arms being a product of Bokuto’s fingertips instead.

Keiji pressed Bokuto further into the wall and Bokuto laced one of their hands together.

“Koutarou,” he whispered and pulled back. Bokuto was flushed and silver with the moonlight.

“Someone could see us,” Bokuto whispered, nervous, but silenced when Keiji gently put their lips together once more. He kissed back, eager.

They kissed for another minute. And another. And then Keiji pulled back, pulling Bokuto with him until they were both stood back in the open.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

He pressed another quick kiss to Bokuto’s lips and they laughed. Keiji hopped up the porch steps and unlocked the door but did not go inside, watching Bokuto’s back as he walked away, long after he left.

—

“Pardon the intrusion!” Keiji yelled into the house as he slipped his shoes off in the porch. Bokuto was fumbling to put his keys back into his pocket, full of all the nervous kinetic energy that usually overcame him whenever Keiji stepped foot into his home.

“I don’t think anyones home except nana,” Bokuto said and peered around the corner. “Hello?” He yelled out into the vastness.

There was no immediate response. But then, a distant, “Koutarou?”

“Dad?!”

Bokuto was around the corner before Keiji had even made it through the door. He followed promptly.

When he turned into the kitchen he saw Bokuto and his father perched by the counters, whatever food his father was preparing abandoned as he pulled his son into a tight embrace. Keiji’s heart ached.

“Oh, hello Akaashi!” Bokuto’s father called out. Keiji bowed and Bokuto laughed. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you! You’re so tall! Would you like dinner? I’m making vegetable okonomiyaki.”

“Thank you, I’d love some, if that’s okay.”

“Of course!”

Bokuto grinned along with his dad.

His father was so rarely home that Keiji had hardly remembered what he looked like, instead just picturing some generic, blank man in his place in his mind rather than the absolute enigmatic being he was. The two looked so similar- Bokuto had definitely inherited his fathers wide, toothy smile. The only real difference in their face were that Bokuto didn’t have the deep purple bags beneath his eyes, and that Bokuto was built like a wall where his father was a tree. His father looked like a bedraggled Bokuto- a worn leather journal compared to a brand new, unused notebook.

He was still dressed in his work uniform, dark blue, dirty coveralls with the words _Toyota_ on the right breast. There was a smudge of grease above his browbone.

“Should I help, dad?”

“Would you mind chopping the spring onions? I’ve done the eggs already.”

Bokuto jumped out of his chair at once to join his father at the counter. They worked in perfect tandem.

“Is there anything I could do?” Keiji asked. He wrung his hands nervously, neither Bokuto or his father could see from their positions, but Bokuto’s father turned his head over his shoulder to look at Keiji while he talked.

“Of course not! It would be impolite to ask a guest.”

“I really don’t mind. I’d feel bad not helping.”

“Would you mind setting the table then, son? Glasses and cutlery- I’ll grab the plates.”

“Of course.”

 _Son._ Bokuto’s father had called him it so easily, without any apparent thought before the words left his mouth. Keiji wondered if he knew how much it hurt to hear the easy affection.

He moved alongside Bokuto to grab the glasses. Bokuto’s eyes followed Keiji like a magnet now that he was in the vicinity.

“Sorry, which cupboard are the glasses?”

“The one right by my head.”

Bokuto ducked his head as Keiji tentatively opened it, pulling three multi-coloured glasses from them. He set them on the table.

“Akaashi’s started driving!” Bokuto told his father as Keiji rifled through the drawer at his hip for cutlery. “He’s really good!”

“Bokuto hasn’t seen me drive, he’s making that up.”

“Akaashi’s good at everything. I don’t have to _see_ him drive to know he’s good.”

“Is that right, Akaashi?”

Keiji stiffened under the voice, carefully trying to decide on an answer. He wanted to impress Bokuto’s father. He knew how important his validation was- both to himself _and_ Bokuto.

“I have started driving,” Akaashi concluded, making the executive decision to not discuss his skill level. “Only recently, though.”

“You taking lessons?”

“My brothers teaching me.”

“Kazumi,” Bokuto clarified, as if Keiji had more than one sibling.

“Ah, Kazumi,” Bokuto’s father nodded as if he had any idea who Kazumi was.

Something flipped in the frying pan. Bokuto cheered. Keiji took a seat at the table and waited for the others to join him.

Bokuto’s father transferred the food from pan to plate. Bokuto debated whether to sit on the side next to Keiji or the side next to his father, ultimately taking the seat to Keiji’s right after his seeing Keiji’s begging eyes.

“Itadakimasu,” they chorused and tucked into their meal.

“What car you practicing in then, Akaashi? Anything fancy?”

“I knew bringing up the driving was a good idea!” Bokuto smiled. His mouth was full of food.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth!”

“Sorry!” Bokuto apologised, food still in his mouth.

“A honda civic,” Keiji responded.

“Manual or automatic?”

“Manual.”

“The correct way,” Bokuto’s father grinned.

“The _hard_ way,” Keiji corrected. The grin stretched wider.

“You mess up your car you bring it to me. I’ll fix it up good for ya’ no cost.”

Keiji bowed his head respectfully.

“Akaashi’s not _gonna_ mess the car up, because he’s the best driver ever.”

“I’ve had less than ten hours of practice, Bokuto.”

“ _The common man is not concerned about the passage of time, the man of talent is driven by it.”_ His father said sagely, both eyes closed. “It is not about how much time you devote to a craft, Akaashi, but the passion with which you do so. _An extraordinary man can do with an hour what the average can do with twenty._ ”

“That sounds so cool, dad.”

His father blinked one eye open. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Laughter echoed around the table. They drank in tandem.

—

“I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve ever stayed at my house, ever. We’ve been friends for, what? A year now?”

“Almost two years.”

“That’s even more than a year!”

“Indeed.”

“And we’ve been dating for nearly three weeks. That’s almost a whole month!” He said the words with hushed excitement, the secret only the two of them knew. “That’s how long since our first kiss, anyway. That’s when _I_ think we started dating.”

“Nineteen days.”

“Wow,” Bokuto breathed, and then laughed. “I feel so lucky.”

“So do I.”

Keiji could hear the thickness of his voice. He pressed a kiss to Bokuto’s lips. It had almost become normal between them, now.

_Almost._

Bokuto pressed his fingertips lightly to Keiji’s jaw. Keiji pulled back.

His eyes flickered to Bokuto’s large, open window. “It’s getting late,” he observed.

“Yeah.” Bokuto cocked his head to the side. His fingers were still brushing Keiji’s jaw and Keiji leaned into it. “Do you need to do your … routine?”

Keiji closed his eyes and nodded.

It was still embarrassing for him to admit this open vulnerability to Bokuto, even if he knew Bokuto wouldn’t react badly. He had only admitted his condition to Bokuto just over a month ago, and Bokuto had only seen it in the flesh a few weeks back.

Being this open was scary. He didn’t like it. But he had to try. How would he ever adapt if he didn’t?

“Okay, that’s fine!” Bokuto said quickly. He stroked Keiji’s jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, well, what do you need to do first? It’s about feeling safe, right?”

“Yeah,” Keiji nodded again and swallowed against the barrier forming in his throat. “I have to check the windows are all locked.”

“Every window in the house?”

Keiji nodded again, but then quickly shook his head _no_ as he thought it through.

“No?”

“I mean, usually, yes, I have to check them all or it will make me really nervous-” Keiji cut himself off before he could ramble, counting to five over and over in his head, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “But I know it’s not practical for me to do that here. This isn’t my house.”

“What do you mean not practical?” Bokuto tilted his head.

“You have siblings, a _family._ I don’t want to-”

“No, it’s fine! They won’t mind. We can do whatever will make you the most comfortable.”

Keiji didn’t respond to that. Was it really okay? He counted again in his head.

“Okay?” Bokuto asked. When Keiji didn’t respond again he craned his neck so that he was looking right into Keiji’s eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So we need to check the windows first? Is there an order, or does it not matter?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Keiji responded quickly, automatically, but after a beat, “I would prefer to check them clockwise, top to bottom, starting from the left.”

Bokuto nodded, and Keiji let out a breath. He didn’t want this to be a big deal. The worst thing that could happen would be Bokuto making a big deal out of it.

Bokuto was reacting perfectly, like this was just as normal of a sleepover request as the video games they played earlier or the snacks they had eaten after dinner.

“Cool, off we go then!”

“We?” Keiji echoed. Bokuto stood up and extended his hand.

“Is that okay?” Bokuto quickly backtracked. “I thought you might want me to do it with you. Since it’s my house, and I could, like, talk to everyone, I don’t know, you could do it alone if you want! It’s up to you!”

“No, I want you to do it with me. Please.”

“Okay!”

Bokuto pulled Keiji to his feet with both hands, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and dropping his hands to move through the doorway. Keiji followed behind.

Bokuto knocked on the leftmost door and opened it before there was any response.

“Koutarou!”

Bokuto’s little sister Yuna launched herself out from her bed, running towards Bokuto and clinging to his leg. Bokuto shook it playfully.

From the bunk-bed to his side his two little brothers looked over sleepily. Put together they couldn’t surmount even a fragment of the energy Yuna had.

“Koutarou?” Nori asked from the bottom bunk, rubbing his tiny hand over his eyes.

“Hey buddy,” Bokuto replied softly. He launched Yuna from his leg into his arms, sending her into a fit of giggles and giving him the mobility to move to sit next to his brother.

“Are you coming to say goodnight?” Hibiki swung over the top bunk to ask. None of them had Bokuto’s salt-and-pepper hair.

“I am!”

“Akaashi!” Yuna noticed.

“Good evening.” He nodded.

“Are you staying the night? I didn’t even know you were _here.”_

She had a slight lisp. Keiji could hear it when she smiled.

“Thats because I have stolen him away and hidden him in my room! Away from you all,” Bokuto said proudly.

“That’s not true,” Keiji said.

“Why is here now, then, if you stole him away?” Asked Hibiki.

Keiji contemplated what to say, how to explain his problem to such small children (and children he wanted to impress, nonetheless). If adults couldn’t comprehend his disorder how would Bokuto’s younger siblings react? How could he best summarise it without making it scary? Perhaps he could use a metaphor. Perhaps he could turn it into a story. Children liked stories, right?

“Akaashi just needs to check the windows are all shut in here,” Bokuto replied simply before Keiji could respond.

“Oh,” Yuna said. “Why?”

“It just makes him feel a little bit safer.”

“Oh.” Again. Then, after a second. “Okay.”

And that was it. The conversation turned into the children reciting their school day to their big brother, idolising him clearly as much as Keiji did.

He turned to the windows and checked them without a problem. There were three locks in here.

 _One, two, three, four,_ he counted off, aligning the locks completely horizontally.

“Goodnight, Akaashi!” They waved as he left.

Keiji was worried checking Bokuto’s parents room would be horrifically awkward, remembering how awful it was to check his _own_ parents room, let alone his boyfriends parents.Only Bokuto’s dad was in there when they entered.

“Oh, hello boys,” he said, putting down whatever book he was reading. Cheap looking glasses sat on the protruding bridge of his nose. “Is everything alright?”

“Akaashi’s just coming to check the windows are locked.”

If his father noticed anything odd about the request he concealed it well.

Keiji was well tuned to the feeling of eyes on his back.

Usually when he checked Kazumi’s room he could feel them, or if his mother was feeling particularly attentive one day they would be glaring holes into the space between his shoulder blades, likely regretting his birth and all the events that had led up to it. Keiji worried that he would feel that now: Bokuto’s eyes, watching him like a hawk, taking advantage of Keiji’s vaguely vulnerable position, but he hadn’t felt anything other than the odd curious glance every now and then.

Bokuto was engaged in a conversation with his father. Neither of them paid Keiji any mind.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Keiji bowed as they left. Bokuto’s father simply waved them goodnight.

Keiji finished the rotation in Bokuto’s bedroom after brushing his teeth and removing his contacts in the family’s shared bathroom. His fingertips left the cool glass and settled at his side. When he turned to look over his shoulder Bokuto was already sat crossed legged on the bed.

“Was that okay?” Bokuto asked earnestly as Keiji crawled beside him, resting his forehead on Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto’s hands immediately moved to his back. “Is there anything else? Are you feeling okay? Safe?”

“Yeah,” Keiji nodded. He grasped Bokuto’s shirt in his hands. “Yeah, I am. Thank you. For helping me. For not acting weird about it.”

“Of course!”

He felt Bokuto’s lips on his hairline, and then he was gone, rolling away until he was crowded against the wall. His hair flopped flat on the pillow.

“Do you wanna stay in my bed tonight? I know it’s kinda small, not as big as _yours,_ but we could probably still both fit.”

“Yes.”

Bokuto beamed and lifted the covers for Keiji to climb under. He did.

Bokuto was right- this bed was not big enough for two athletic teenage boys. They had to shuffle and adjust themselves a few times, both unused to the feeling of another body in the bed, and eventually found themselves laying with Bokuto laying on his back, head turned to the side, and Keiji half on top of him,pressed close.

“What if someone comes in?” Keiji asked in a whisper.

Like this he could see all of Bokuto’s eyelashes, (they were white. How peculiar), how his eyes weren’t so gold in the darkness, but instead a beautiful rich brown. Like overripe coffee. Like bark in an ever-evolving forest.

“They won’t! And if they do, it’s okay, they won’t think anything of it! Me and Kuroo always share a bed. They’ll just think its a _me_ thing, not an _us_ thing.”

“Okay.”

Keiji didn’t need more convincing. He _wanted_ this. He wanted to stop looking for excuses. Bokuto’s arms bundled him up gently, caging him without being enforcing.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Sorry,” Bokuto laughed nervously, quietly. “Is it too loud?”

“No. It’s nice.”

“I can feel you breathing,” Bokuto replied. Keiji didn’t have to see his face to picture the fond look on it. “Your chest is moving.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed softly. He couldn’t reach Bokuto’s mouth from where they were laying so he pressed a small kiss to Bokuto’s shoulder instead. The skin was warm through his shirt.

“Goodnight, Keiji.”

“Goodnight.”

They fell asleep entwined, the moonlight skimming stones on their soft and smooth skin, the night air carrying their shared breathing and lulling them to peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest chapter in the whole book i think omg


	12. shinjiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER !!  
> -please please read the end notes for a list of the trigger warnings this chapter !! there are a good few!! 
> 
> oh i've run out of reasons  
> to keep on believing  
> yeah, it's true  
> and my heart is still bleeding  
> i know you don't need me  
> but i need you
> 
> -reaching out, ricky smith

“Okay, now, when I say to I want you to move up to fourth gear.”

“ _Fourth?”_ Keiji echoed.

“Yeah. Hey, don’t give me that face, you can do it!” Keiji schooled the nerves away. “Get ready. Press down on that gas.”

He tilted the wheel as required to swerve the bend in the road, eyes frantically eying mirrors and fighting the urge to fiddle. Driving in the third gear had made things so much harder- the faster he was going, the less time he had to focus on everything else, even if this was his fourth lesson with Kazumi and he was gradually getting the hang of it.

“Okay, up to fourth.”

Keiji released off the gas and stepped hard on the clutch, shifting the gearstick down, quickly putting the gas back on to get them up to speed.

“Holy shit,” he said, nervous. His eyes flitted to the centre mirror to check who was behind him.

“Doesn’t this feel great?” Kazumi asked. He rolled down his window as Keiji swerved through the country lanes. “Keep in your lane, you’re drifting over the centre line.”

“Right,” Keiji adjusted.

“You’re so tense,” Kazumi noted. Keiji kept his eyes on the road. “Keep calm. These roads are all empty- you’ve got nothing to worry about! They’re easier than the town roads you’ve been doing.”

“Mhm.”

“Next left. Go down to second for the corner.”

Keiji checked his mirrors and indicated before switching down, slowing as he turned. He pulled the corner slightly too wide.

“Sorry,” he apologised instinctively.

“It’s alright, you’re getting better!” Kazumi praised. “Now press on the gas. Get back up to fourth.”

Keiji did as instructed, upping the speed until he could get to third, upping again to fourth.

His eyes roamed the road before him, long and winding, ditches and trees lining either side of the road. There were no cars shooting round these bends- just Keiji, Kazumi and the open roads. He could feel the wind ruffling his hair. Behind the wheel he felt powerful.

“How long are you staying?” Keiji asked, despite himself.

“Three months, give or take. I’m all done with college now so I’m not on any strict routine.”

“What about work?”

Kazumi had been working at a law firm for the past two years, balancing a perfect work and study life, being paid well for doing little and using college as an occupancy of his free time.

“Our employees are on rotation, and I’m only part-time anyway. Mostly I just file paperwork. They’re fine with me working remotely for a while.”

He said it effortlessly, like he had practised the words over and over again in his head so they sounded mechanic on his tongue. Perhaps he had already had this conversation with his parents.

“What about your girlfriend? Are you still with her?”

“Arisu?” He asked, and Keiji could hear the click in Kazumi’s neck as he turned to look out the window. “It’s …complicated.”

“Complicated?” Keiji asked. “How?”

“Turn right here. First gear.” Keiji did as instructed, flicking the indicator upwards and craning his head to look around the corner, turning when it was safe and picking up speed again. “We fight a lot. I think we just need to be apart for a little while.”

“Fighting? That doesn’t sound right.”

“Over small things. Like who didn’t do the dishes, and where I’ve been if I come home late, or-” he cut himself off, slinking back down into his seat. “-other stuff.”

“Like mom and dad?”

“Mom and dad don’t really fight. They just don’t talk to eachother. I don’t know which is worse, really, fighting or ignoring. Because at least I know Arisu is feeling _something_ if she’s shouting. I don’t know if mom and dad really feel anything anymore. For eachother, or _us,_ or work or in general. They’re just old and empty.”

Keiji had to fight to keep his eyes on the road.

He had forgotten how lonely it was at home without Kazumi there. He had just gotten used to it. His parents were cold and they were distant, and Keiji had been alone with them long enough that he wasn’t sure if that was abnormal. _Maybe all people were cold and distant_ , he reasoned, maybe all parents treated their children like fragile pottery vases, _for display use only._ To be looked at but not interacted with.

Kazumi was someone like him, in a way. They were both on the same side of the trench in their parents Cold War. He saw them the same way Keiji did, from the insiders perspective, the only person who would ever really understand how Keiji was seeing their relationship fraying day-in, day-out, and the only one who would understand how grating it was to have your parents eyes completely glance over you.

He wondered if Kazumi’s statement held any truth, that it was worse to be ignored than shouted at because, if he was truly honest with himself, maybe he _would_ prefer for his parents to hate him rather than to simply tolerate him. Because maybe then he could chalk it up to _them_ being the problem, instead of himself always being not good enough to grab their attention.

Without his brother there he was lonely, he realised. After everything Kazumi had put him through he still missed him.

“I think they might divorce,” Kazumi added on, but then sighed. “If they even care enough to do that. Maybe they’ll just be sad and lonely together forever. I mean it’s clear they don’t love eachother anymore. Up to fifth gear now.”

Something about the words hit like a boulder. _Sad and lonely together._ The idea that his parents would rather just stay together out of principle because they didn’t care enough to go through the effort of divorce. Kazumi was throwing snowglobe after snowglobe of Keiji’s remaining hope against the wall for them to shatter at his feet. Logically he knew they didn’t love eachother, but to be so bluntly confronted by it was sad. It was really, really, sad. It scared him.

He remembered Bokuto’s dad calling him _son._ The hug between Bokuto and his father flashed through his head and he was rife with unbridled jealousy, with wanting. When was the last time his parents had ever hugged him? He remembered crying in his bed, alone, as a fourteen year old boy because they didn’t even think that he might want to hug, or to talk about it, or be given a smudge of the affection Bokuto had so easily been shown his whole life.

It was uncontrollable and he felt immediately and overwhelmingly guilty at the rush of jealousy and upset that flooded him, but it clung to him like a wet shirt, that even though Bokuto’s family was poor and had nothing where Keiji’s family had _everything,_ Bokuto’s family had eachother. They had the warmth and affection and love that Keiji had never been given and he was starved for it.

He moved up to fifth gear without thought, speeding down the country lane at fifty miles an hour. There were still no cars, but a long, deep ditch ran parallel to the road.

One turn of the wheel and he and Kazumi would be off the road, the thought crossed his mind. How long would it take for someone to find them? Where even were they?

He could feel as the familiar sensations gripped him even though he tried to will them away. He wanted to close his eyes against them, force them out, but behind the wheel he had no option but to stare unseeingly ahead.

 _Drive into the ditch,_ his mind told him. He couldn’t hear anything over the waterfall roar of it. _Drive into the ditch._

His hands gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles white as paper. Quicker and quicker his chest rose and fell as it tried to circulate oxygen around his frantic body.

“Keiji?” Kazumi asked, finally clicking what might be happening. “Are you… okay?”

 _Drive into the ditch._ “Fine.”

The words didn’t want to come out of his mouth: he had to grit his teeth to get them out. He needed to shut his eyes, to _think_ but he couldn’t. The road taunted him. The ditch begged his reaction.

“Keiji.”

Kazumi started to sound afraid as Keiji’s body seized and locked. He couldn’t turn the wheel- he didn’t trust himself to keep them safe.

He could do this by himself. He didn’t need Kazumi’s help. He could get them out of it.

A bend was upcoming. Keiji took a deep breath, willing himself to move the wheel slightly to the left, to follow the line. He would only have to move it a fraction. He could do it. He could control it.

 _Drive into the ditch,_ his mind echoed, and Keiji snapped. He couldn’t breathe.

“I need to pull over. Now.” Frantic. He couldn’t turn the corner. He _couldn’t._

They only had seconds. This was going to _kill_ them.

“Keiji?”

“Now!”

Kazumi lunged for the wheel over the console. Keiji pulled away and pressed his hands into his eyes.

“Clutch down! Now!”

He could barely do as instructed. He pulled his foot from the gas and pumped down the clutch. _I’m killing us._ Kazumi switched them down to first gear with his left hand, steering with the right, all while leaned over the console. The car slowed and they jutted harshly to a stop, stalling as the engine forced itself off. Kazumi switched on the hazard lights, breathing heavily as he slumped back into his motionless seat.

If there was a single car behind them they would be dead. If they were pulling up to a junction they would be dead.

If Keiji tried to pull that corner they would be dead.

“What happened?” Kazumi asked, voice sounding equal parts worried and scared, but not angry and Keiji expected. “What’s wrong?”

He could feel the tears welling up thick in his throat and he willed them not to fall. He pressed the heels of his palms deeper into his eyes and bundled the words away.

“Oh, Keiji, it’s okay, _hey.”_

Kazumi leaned over and bundled Keiji into his arms before Keiji could even think to object, like Keiji was eleven again and his big brother was his hero, comforting him after his parents had shouted at him or another kid had been mean. It was awkward, over the centre console, Keiji could feel the handbreak digging into his thigh, but the warm arms around him coaxed the tears out and down his cheeks in oceans.

He kept his hands over his face, wanting _some_ sort of shield between them as the sobs clawed their way out of his throat. He found that once he started he couldn’t stop. Years of unshed grief had finally caught up to him in this one, unfortunate and seemingly unimportant moment. Why was _this_ what had sent him over the edge, out of everything?

Kazumi was whispering into his hair, _it’s okay, things like this happen, you’re doing so, so well Keiji. You’re okay. You’re okay._

Keiji cried until his insides were a desert, until he had exhausted himself of the option of crying anymore. Kazumi didn’t let him go for a long while afterwards, running his fingers up and down the length of his back and holding his pieces together.

-—

Bokuto had messaged him.

**From: Bokuto**

_how was ur day !!! ^_^_

**From: Bokuto**

_i missed u 2day,,, like i always do <3333_

**From: Bokuto**

_have u DIED ??? omg noooooooo im 2 young 2 b a widow_

**From: Bokuto**

_was driving ok ??? <3333333_

**From: Bokuto**

_u didnt answr my call :((( r u ok ?? we always call <3_

**From: Bokuto**

_keiji please answer im rlly worried_

**From: Bokuto**

_did i do something ???? im sorry if i did please let me no ur ok u’ve never not picked up before_

Keiji watched the phone buzz from where he had bundled himself to his hair in blankets. He ignored every single one.

—

He could hear the knocking from all the way in his bedroom. Even if he tried to deny it he knew it was coming. Instead of answering he burrowed himself deeper in his bed and prayed to god that Bokuto would just go home.

If he left it long enough Bokuto would get the idea and leave eventually. He didn’t have to be subjected to Keiji like this.

However the knocking continued, persistent, and then faded out altogether.

If Keiji’s thoughts didn’t kill him the guilt would. He could feel it’s jaws around him, piercing his neck and swallowing him whole, like a python to a rabbit: bloodthirsty and predatory and merciless.

But then he heard the soft footsteps up the hall. He begged them in his mind to go away. There were two quiet reps against the door and Kazumi’s head popped in.

“Bokuto’s here,” he informed him.

“Tell him to go home.” He pulled the blanket closer around him, rolling to face away from Kazumi. Rain thumped dully at his window.

“I think he walked here, Keiji. He’s soaked.”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Kazumi was right; it wasn’t true. He cared _so_ much. Bokuto was stupid. He had walked all this way to see Keiji in the rain when Keiji was treating him like shit. He probably hadn’t even brought an umbrella. Keiji’s stomach lurched at the thought.

Wasn’t this what he had always wanted? Somebody to care about him? Wasn’t that what his entire meltdown was about earlier? Why did he yearn for it so badly only to push away the people that tried?

Because he knew if Bokuto saw him like this everything would change. Keiji was meant to be his pillar, to get _him_ through hardships, so he would do what he knew best: he recoiled. Kazumi didn’t get the idea.

“Should I let him in?”

“I don’t want to see him.”

“You don’t want to see _him?_ Or do you not want _him_ to see _you?”_

Keiji steeled over.

“You can’t keep doing this, Keiji. All this running away! Some people just want what's best for you, you know?”

Then, from its space next to him on the bed in its unmoved position, his phone started to buzz again. Bokuto’s face filled the screen, his contact information flashing. Keiji picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Keiji, are you okay? Why didn’t you answer earlier?”

Bokuto sounded frantic. Keiji’s eyes darted to his brother, leaning against his doorway.

Keiji was a very private person. He didn’t like the idea of people being able to listen in on his conversations to _any_ capacity.

Bokuto was more important, though. Always. Keiji didn’t realise how worried he was/

“I’m okay,” Keiji croaked. Timidly he bought his knees up to his chest.

“God I knew something was wrong. I’m at your door now, please let me come in! I’m sorry if I’m overreacting but I had a really bad feeling. Something just felt off, you know, and I needed to just come and check before something bad happens, or didn’t happen, but I wasn’t sure!”

Keiji steeled himself. His voice had to be quiet to avoid being hoarse and he himself could barely hear it. “Something happened earlier. It’s been a-” he took a shaky breath. “It hasn’t been a good day.”

“Please let me in,” Bokuto said. He sounded quiet. “We don’t have to talk. I just want to see you.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He was overly aware of Kazumi in his doorway, of the way his voice broke halfway through the sentence. He shut his eyes tightly as if it would protect him.

“I don’t… I don’t care how you _look_ Keiji. Nobody is perfect all of the time. I just want to see you’re okay. Please.”

Bokuto sounded desperate. Keiji wondered just how much longer he would string Bokuto out like this, over and over.

Selfish. Keiji was so, so selfish, and overly aware of it.

When he opened his eyes again he noticed Kazumi had left, which could only mean he was already on route to the front door.

“Okay,” Keiji replied and curled in on himself impossibly tighter. He could barely hear his own words. “Okay. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Keiji breathed quietly so he could listen for the footsteps outside, the small creak of the door shutting, and the creak of his one opening.

Kazumi was right; Bokuto must have walked because his hair was plastered to his forehead and the thin coat he wore was two shades of grey darker than usual. He shut the door behind him but lingered near it, watching Keiji curled under his covers. He looked like a person approaching a stray cat on the sidewalk; tentative and cautious, unsure of the best way to handle the situation, keeping their distance both for their own safety and the wellbeing of the terrified animal.

“Keiji,” Bokuto whispered. He looked unsure of what to do, but when Keiji finally met his eyes they were completely earnest. Keiji could tell he was thinking over his words carefully, trying to choose the right ones. It was so out of character. It was a side of Bokuto he so rarely got to see. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” Keiji croaked.

Bokuto was crouched on his knees on his bed in an instant, pulling Keiji into his damp chest, hooking his chin over his shoulder and using his arms to cross the broadest part of Keiji’s back. Keiji clutched to him like a lifeboat.

“What’s wrong?” Bokuto asked. Keiji pressed his face into his neck. Bokuto was moving his arms around him frantically, as if there wasn’t enough time for him to touch _all_ of Keiji so he was committing each part to memory in seconds.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied in a small voice. It was unlike him.

“That’s okay!” Bokuto reassured quickly. He moved his hands up and down Keiji’s back, and Keiji focused on the motion. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. I just didn’t want you to be alone.”

If there were any more tears left in him Bokuto would have coaxed them out. _He didn’t want Keiji to be alone._ How did he ever deserve this? Instead he let out shaky breaths.

“I just want you to hold me.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do that. Anything you want. I’m here.”

He smoothed his hands over Keiji’s shoulders, full of kinetic energy spurring him to move while Keiji sat completely still and gripping to Bokuto like a vice. Every now and then Bokuto whispered assuring words into the air.

“Thank you for coming,” Keiji whispered. Perhaps if he said it quiet enough Bokuto wouldn’t have even noticed. “Thank you for being here.”

“It’s okay. Always. I’m here whenever you need me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply, I-”

Keiji couldn’t even find the words to explain himself. How he was a _coward,_ and when he was faced with situations he couldn’t problem-solve he ran away. It was shameful and it ran deep. To tell Bokuto would be to give him the deepest, darkest and innermost part of him, the thing that made everything else work, and hope that Bokuto took the ugly, wretched thing and cradled it. It wouldn’t happen. It wouldn’t _ever_ happen.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

He felt stretched open, entirely exposed and vulnerable like this: even though it was only Bokuto in the room with him, not even looking in his direction, he felt as though he was performing for a crowd of thousands, all watching and critiquing his words, his breathing, his panic. The whole world was watching him break down for their entertainment, and every part of him was begging him to crawl back under his covers and to force Bokuto to leave. He was pathetic.

Bokuto’s breathing evened out. Everything had gone quiet between them beside Keiji’s shaky breathing and his quickly moving thoughts.

Bokuto’s hands moved to Keiji’s sweaty hair and his fingers raked through it, nails gently trailing the nape of his neck. They ran along the widest part of his shoulders, along the seam of his shirt and briefly dipping underneath it to press against his tan collarbone, gently up and over his Adams apple, tucking a piece of the dark hair back behind his ear. That was where Bokuto’s chin rested as he breathed softly against Keiji’s ear.

“I had an older brother,” Bokuto whispered into the still air.

“What?” Keiji hadn’t heard him right. Surely.

Bokuto swallowed. “Shinjiro. That was his name.”

Hesitantly, Keiji pulled back just enough that he could see Bokuto’s face, the wet sheen to his eyes, the way they flittered away from Keiji’s face and into his lap. Keiji stared.

“He, uh,” Bokuto continued and suddenly the roles were reversed. Keiji moved his fingers to Bokuto’s arms, lingering. Bokuto cleared his throat. “He committed suicide. When I was thirteen. Uh.”

“Koutarou,” he whispered. Bokuto looked to him sadly. He shook his head quickly, the way a child would try to get their hair out of their eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“My dads the one who found him. I was at school. My little siblings were too young to even remember him.” Bokuto laughed and it was thick with grief. “I shared a room with him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Keiji reiterated. His heart ached more for Bokuto than it ever had for himself. Both their voices were soft, a mimicry of the way you talk in a library, or a how two best friends talk in class when they don’t want to be caught by a teacher, or when you’re talking about a subject so sensitive that you can fool yourself into thinking soft voices will make things easier to handle, like soft voices will give the words a safe place to land. They won’t. “I had no idea.”

“Of course not. It was before I knew you. Before anyone knew me.”

Keiji moved his palm to cup Bokuto’s cheek. He caught the tear before it fell, right in the divot of his thumb. He rubbed the high point of Bokuto’s cheek.

Bokuto was pessimistic with him often but not like this. Sad and pessimistic were not synonymous, and this was Bokuto _grieving._ How could he be so open with Keiji? _How?_

“Tell me about him.”

Bokuto laughed again. He was _always_ laughing, even if it was wet and hoarse and full of hurt. It was one of Keiji’s favourite things about him. Another tear fell. Keiji smoothed it away.

“He was really, really funny. He always got told off for being too loud in class. And he wore glasses. Like you.” The corners of his mouth lifted slightly when he said this. “He always wanted the bottom bunk because he got up to go to the toilet so many times in the night. And he _loved_ action films.” There was a pause. “He was a singer.”

His eyes drifted shut again like he was picturing it all on a screen in his head. “He had, like, a deep, throaty singing voice. It was really nice. If I was sad sometimes he would sing for me.”

“He would?”

“Yeah. I think he made all the songs up on the spot, they were kinda bad.”

He laughed again and moved his hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. Keiji caught it before it could reach and pressed a kiss to his palm.

They dealt with their pain in different ways. When Keiji was sad he closed up. He just wanted it to go away and move on, pushing away anybody who tried to get too close.

When Bokuto was sad a piece of his heart unfurled in his hands, and he gifted it to whoever would listen. He liked to talk about it. He needed to get the jumbled words out of his head and into the small gap between them.

Absentmindedly Keiji wondered if that was why Bokuto had brought this up at all, the seemingly random shift in conversation suddenly making sense. Maybe Bokuto had realised this too, finding a way to make them both more comfortable dealing with an upsetting situation.

 _I would sing for you, if you were sad, if that was what you wanted._ That’s what Keiji wanted to tell him. That he couldn’t stop himself from doing whatever Bokuto wanted. That he tried _so hard_ to keep the darkest parts of himself caged up and buried six feet under, but that he unfurled like paper whenever Bokuto asked to hear. _I would sing for you every single day if you asked me to._

“He sounds amazing.”

“He was,” Bokuto replied, shaky. Another wet laugh tore through him. “You wouldn’t have liked him.”

“No?”

“No. He was too loud. You wouldn’t have liked him at all.”

Keiji smiled, soft, and brushed the wet hair out of Bokuto’s eyes with his fingertips. “Well _you’re_ loud, and I like _you.”_

“I like you too. A lot!”

Keiji pulled Bokuto close again, as close as two people could possibly be, their bodies flush against one another and their breathing perfectly in sync. Keiji’s eyelids drifted shut.

Bokuto’s eyes tightened around him.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Keiji. I really am. Sometimes I worry about you. Whether you’re okay or not, because I know you don’t always tell me. And thats okay! You only have to tell me what you want to.”

Bokuto was cold against him. Like this Keiji could feel the almost imperceptible shivers wracking through his body, probably caused by the rain, which he walked in for Keiji.

“I’m okay.”

“When you didn’t answer my text earlier I just -yeah. I had a bad feeling. I was scared something might have, uh, happened.”

Oh. _Oh._

He was so, so stupid for putting Bokuto through that.

“I wouldn’t ever do that. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay! I mean I know you wouldn’t, and you didn’t know, just… sometimes I can’t help but think about it. That’s why I brought him up. And it’s why I might have overreacted a bit.”

“I wouldn’t. Not ever. I promise you.” Keiji moved back so he could see Bokuto’s face again, gently slope their foreheads together, hands cupping his jaw. The tip of his nose just brushed Bokuto’s. “We’re gonna have a big house together someday, remember? You told me. With a sheepdog and a library and a huge garden. I have to be there for that. And you do too.”

Bokuto fumbled with his hands until they closed around Keiji’s. He nodded. “I remember.”

Softly Bokuto pulled back, though not far. He gently moved his head from side to side and brushed their noses together. A different kind of kiss. Keiji could feel his heartbeat in his jaw.

It was intimate. Keiji felt so inexplicably known.

“You’re cold,” he whispered, not pulling away as Bokuto continued to brush against him. “You should take a shower. I can put your clothes in the dryer for you.”

“Okay.” He paused. They breathed together. Bokuto blinked his eyes open. “I’m so glad we became friends. You really are my best friend, Keiji. That I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Keiji breathed. He bit back the tears. “You’re mine, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> Suicidal and harmful thoughts, discussions of past suicide, intense ocd flare up and depressive aftermath, unhealthy coping mechanisms


	13. live music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> always take a big bite  
> it's such a gorgeous sight  
> to see you eat in the middle of the night  
> you can never get enough  
> enough of this stuff  
> it's friday, i'm in love
> 
> -friday im in love, the cure

Bokuto had asked Keiji on a date.

“A real one, you know,” he had said as they sat on the bench together during training. Keiji was drinking from his water bottle and Bokuto spoke in hushed tones. “I’d like to go out somewhere. With you.”

“What do you have in mind?” Keiji asked, wiping his mouth with his forearm and pretending he didn’t notice Bokuto’s eyes tracing the movement.

“A surprise!”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Maybe you’ve just had bad surprises before. This ones gonna be _good.”_

At Keiji’s look of skepticism Bokuto pouted. “Don’t you trust me?”

He debated the options: was it really worth sending Bokuto into a slump over? After everything that they had been though that night, peeling back and unveiling each others layers until the early hours of the morning.

Keiji sighed. “I trust you.”

Which was how he now stood in front of his full length bedroom mirror, worrying over what to wear like a 2000s teenage rom-com protagonist.

When Keiji had texted asking on advice with what to wear Bokuto had messaged back _you can wear whatever you like :))) CASUAL !!!!! <3333333 _which was, in this situation, incredibly unhelpful in easing Keiji’s mind.

Casual. _Casual._

Keiji had only been on, at most, three dates before, and they were all with people he was vaguely uninterested in. What he wore didn’t worry him before because he had very little desire to impress the other in regards to anything other than politeness.

 _Casual_. Keiji could be casual.

He held a shirt to himself in the mirror. He liked it enough, but it didn’t seem right. What did people wear on dates? Were jeans casual?

“Kazumi,” Keiji rounded the corner of the stairs. “What does _casual_ mean?”

Kazumi stopped with a handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth, one eyebrow cocked. “Like in general, or…?”

“In terms of clothes. To dress casual.”

“Oh my god, are you going on a date?”

“No,” he lied through his teeth but he could feel the flush rising on his cheekbones like burning coal. Kazumi saw straight through the fog.

“You are! With who?” His eyes were comically wide. The popcorn was pushed aside. “Holy shit- do I know her?”

“Nevermind,” Keiji said too quickly and turned to leave.

“No, I’m sorry, come back! I’ll help, I’ll help!”

Keiji wanted to be stubborn and leave but he knew Kazumi had infinitely more experience than him, always the better, suave older brother.

He hopped off the sofa and slung an arm over Keiji’s shoulders, leading him back up the stairs and into Keiji’s own bedroom. He wrinkled his nose at the shirts Keiji had on the bed.

“What?” Keiji asked, defensive.

“Where are you going? Thats probably a big decider on your outfit.”

“I don’t know yet. It’s a surprise.”

He had to consciously watch his words to avoid a slip. _He’s surprising me_ or _Bokuto hasn’t told me yet_ are aching to leave his mouth. He cages them in like a child in a playpen.

“A surprise?” Kazumi turns away from him, laughing under his breath. “Usually the guy surprises the _girl,_ Keiji.”

“Mmm.”

Kazumi picked up a shirt. “And you have no idea where you’re going? Whatsoever?”

“None.”

“Okay.” Kazumi hummed under his breath. He put the shirt back on the bed, making sure to lay the sleeves flat the way he knows Keiji likes them left. “Okay, thats fine.”

And then Kazumi was gone, leaving Keiji’s room as quickly as he came. Keiji stared at the void doorway and willed Kazumi to come back. When he returned he had a sweatshirt in his hand.

“I like the green shirt you picked. The plaid one.” Kazumi said. Keiji’s eyes followed to where it lay meticulously on his bed. “I think you should wear that and put a sweatshirt over it. Thoughts?”

Keiji eyed the sweatshirt Kazumi had bought in. It was grey and the logo for The Smiths was printed on the front, faded from years of wear- they had been Kazumi’s favourite band a few years back. He had decided he wanted to play guitar after going to one of their concerts.

 _Life changing, Keiji,_ Kazumi had told him. They were younger back then. He laid on Kazumi’s floor as he pulled pluckily at the guitars strings, the sweatshirt he had gotten from the show hanging loose and bulky on him. _This way I’ll never grow out of it!_ His childish face had defended with a smile. _Live music- it’s something else. We should go sometime!_

“Yeah. I think that would look good.”

“With the jeans you’ve got on already.”

“Okay.”

“Are you gonna do anything with your hair?”

“Uh,” Keiji looked at it over in the mirror. Should he? “I’m not sure.”

“Do you want me to help? I could style it or something. I’ve got products in my room.”

He looked nervous proposing this. Keiji locked eyes with him in the mirror.

“Yeah- could you? If thats alright.” Nervous, he laughed. “I haven’t got any idea what I’m doing.”

“No problem, I’ve got this!” The smile Kazumi directed at him was blinding. This felt like a step in the right direction. Maybe, subconsciously, Bokuto was healing him of all the damage Kazumi had done. “Get changed and come to my room after. I’ll go get everything set up!”

“Okay.”

Kazumi nodded and turned to leave the room.

“Kazumi,” Keiji interrupted before he could leave. Kazumi stopped with one hand on the doorframe. “Thank you. For helping me.”

His expression froze for a second before a grin took over.

“No problem.”

When he slipped the sweatshirt on he was thirteen again and everything was good. It smelled like five years in the past, a time-capsule to a period where the house felt full and Keiji never questioned his self worth and two brothers loved eachother.

—

Bokuto had texted him the location he wanted them to meet at: a strange, derelict and obscure corner near their local supermarket. Kazumi had offered to drive him, almost certainly because he wanted to sneak a glance at who Keiji was going to see, but he had turned the offer down in favour of walking.

The evening air was just crisp enough that he had wished he bought a jacket but not cold enough to force him to turn back for one. He rubbed his arms as he waited, anxiously checking his phone to make sure he had the right location.

“Akaashi!”

Keiji’s head turned to see Bokuto jogging towards him.

“Akaashi! Were you waiting long? I’m so sorry! I hope I haven’t already ruined things!”

“Not at all, it’s alright!” Keiji’s eyes widened. He couldn’t fight off the smile rising to his face. “You look … different?”

“Thank you!”

Bokuto had cleaned up nicely, clearly putting more of an effort into his outfit today than the usual hoodie and joggers he wore. He wore a button-up done to the top and jeans, and had a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

And…

“Your hair.”

Keiji forced his hand to stay at his side and not to touch the black-and-white locks in front of him. Bokuto’s hand automatically rose to his own hair, petting it absentmindedly.

“I tried to make it nice! I don’t know…” Bokuto now looked sheepish. “Does it look bad?”

The large mass of it was gelled swooped to one side: an incredibly and uncharacteristically tampered-down version of the volume it usually had. Bokuto looked more like a page-boy or a groomsman taken straight from a bridal magazine or an office pamphlet than he did Bokuto. Keiji couldn’t help but laugh.

“It looks nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I like your hair too!” Bokuto interjected quickly and Keiji felt better about the curl-cream-stuff Kazumi had put into it. “And your outfit! You look really, really nice! Not that you don’t always look really nice! You just look super nice today! _Gah_!”

Bokuto buried his face in his hands. Keiji could feel the wire fraying. He pressed his hand to Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Bokuto, there’s no need to be nervous.”

As if Keiji’s heart wasn’t running a marathon of its own volition.

Bokuto mumbled, muffled into his hands. “I don’t want to mess everything up.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” Keiji reassured, as intimate as he could be in such a public and unromantic setting. He smoothed his thumb back and forth. “It’s just me.”

“I know. Sorry, _sorry.”_

“Come on,” Keiji gently pried Bokuto’s hands away from over his eyes. He really did look nervous. And beautiful. “Where are we going?”

“Right!” Bokuto sprung back up. “Follow me.”

Keiji did, curious.

They walked for about fifteen minutes behind backstreets and up a grassy verge. When Keiji stumbled Bokuto offered his hand and Keiji took it.

“Here we are!” Bokuto declared and looked out over the horizon at the slowly setting sun.

Keiji was breathless.

From up here he could see all of Tokyo: the endlessly piled skyscrapers and the clusters of shops and houses with their lights turned on all a smudged blur. The telephone wires spliced the painted landscape and the sun bathed the city in dull orange.

There were flowers before his toes. Trees lined his horizon.

When Keiji turned to see Bokuto he wasn’t stood beside him like before but instead rolling out a blanket onto the grass, deep blue and littered with stars.

“I brought us a picnic!” Bokuto said with a grin, sitting cross legged and looking to Keiji with a blinding grin. “I thought we could go to see a movie but then we’d have to sit in silence for two whole hours. So I got this instead! I thought we could just talk for a bit. Because it’s my favourite thing to do with you.”

Keiji had never felt this way about anyone before.

This was when he knew he was in love; watching Bokuto set out a blanket for the two of them under he glowing light of the sun, hair gelled ridiculously to his head in an effort to look nice for Keiji, telling Keiji that the thing he wanted out of him more than anything else was just to talk, to hear what he had to say.

Every other date had been throwaway. Two hours in a theatre, not talking, almost entirely uninterested in eachother. Keiji can’t remember the last time anyone had even caught his eye. He can’t remember the last time somebody else made him feel something other than vague curiosity.

He was overwhelmed with it. It filled his lungs and choked him, expanded to the exact size and volume of his throat that it could remain comfortably so long that he never opened his mouth or it would slowly spill from the sides.

He was in love. He was so unquestionably and irrevocably in love.

“Akaashi?”

Keiji couldn’t say anything or he knew his heart would come tumbling out. He knelt beside Bokuto on the blanket and pulled him in with trembling hands, pressing their fumbling lips together. Bokuto crossed his arms behind Keiji’s neck and pulled him ever closer.

He pulled away before he could get carried away, breathing heavily. He couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling in his chest from escaping into the space between them.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto asked again but the grin was creeping onto his face too. He tried to press his face near Keiji’s again but Keiji pulled back, still laughing, too much teeth. “What’s so funny, huh? You never laugh like this.”

He poked Keiji’s side grinning, teasing. Keiji leaned into him. He placed his hands on Bokuto’s cheeks. Grinning, he rubbed his thumbs below Bokuto’s eyes.

“You’re just so good.” Bokuto grinned back but his eyes looked away embarrassed. Keiji pulled his head back into view. “I mean it! You are so, so good, Koutarou.”

“Really?”

“Really. Really really.”

Keiji felt as though he had swallowed the sun. He couldn’t keep the playfulness at bay, wanting to bask in the shared happiness he had managed to catch without meaning to.

“I did actually bring food, for us to _eat,”_ Bokuto said when Keiji had shown no signs of wanting to pull away. “Come on, _happy-‘Kaashi,_ I don’t want you to be hungry! Then this would be the _worst_ date.”

“This is the best date I’ve ever been on in my whole life,” Keiji said, smiling, playful. The happiness had flayed him open and without embarrassment. He just wanted to make Bokuto feel a fraction of what he was feeling in this moment.

“Well it’s about to get better, because I brought your _favourite,”_ Bokuto sang. “Onigiri! I know you like the salmon one the best but I also bought tuna, and I think I’ve got umeboshi in there too… and other foods that _aren’t_ onigiri, of course! I’ll get them out.”

He laid the selection over the blanket and the cheap supermarket food looked like a feast of kings from Bokuto’s hands. Everything was orange and comfortable and warm.

“Oh, I have something to ask you!” Bokuto asked a while later.

“Of course,” Keiji brushed himself off.

They hadn’t stopped talking for hours. The sky was finally beginning to darken and Keiji dreaded the existence of the passage of time because he knew it meant this day would soon have to end, and he and Bokuto would walk their separate ways home and the date would exist in the back of their minds as they pretended they were nothing more than friends.

But time also meant they could do this again, and again and again and again, as many times as they wanted until they grew bored of the orange sunset and the onigiri and overly-gelled hair. But then they could go somewhere else: the beach or a restaurant or Keiji’s bedroom or maybe even the theatre, and they could fall in love all over again.

He liked that thought. He imagined doing it for the rest of his life.

Bokuto played with Keiji’s fingers idly. “My older sister- Kumiko- I don’t think you’ve met her but I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned her before.”

Keiji had heard many stories about Bokuto’s older sisters Kumiko and Reina. Kumiko, the oldest, worked at some vaguely famous film studio and had finally started to settle down. Reina was more of an untampered flame and spent her life traveling, going from city to city and partner to partner while working freelance and doing the things she loved.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned her before.”

“Good! Well, it’s her wedding next month and I was just wondering if, maybe, you’d like to go with me?”

Keiji stilled.

An invite to a formal family event? As Bokuto’s boyfriend?

“You only have to come as my friend, nothing else! Everybody gets a plus one they don’t have to be, like, romantic. And I’d be really lonely without you there. Super bored…”

“Are you sure it’s … appropriate for me attend?” Keiji asked, unsure. “The last thing I want to do is to make your family dislike me.”

“Dislike you? They could never! I want you there so they _want_ you there.” Then, after a second, Bokuto tacked on. “I’d probably just be texting you the whole night anyway. I want you to come.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Only to save from you being rude at her wedding. You can’t text at a wedding!”

“You’re the best, Keiji! You really, really are!”

Bokuto buried his face in Keiji’s neck. Keiji cradled the world in his hands.

—

Bokuto was above him, rough hand gripping tightly to Keiji’s arm and lips moving hurriedly, heatedly, against his own, as if the only breath of air Bokuto could stand to find was hidden between Keiji’s two lips, buried deep in his lungs and needing prying out with Bokuto’s tongue.

Keiji wrapped his arms around Bokuto’s neck to pull him impossibly closer. Whatever Bokuto was giving he needed more. When Bokuto pulled back to breath he stayed close enough that Keiji could feel the hot air on his cheek burning with the heat of a thousand suns. He pressed a kiss below Bokuto’s ear, one to the jut of his jaw, just to feel the way it clenched beneath his open mouth.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, too loudly to pass of as unfazed. Keiji could feel his arms wobble where they held themselves above Keiji’s head.

Encouraged, Keiji pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture between Bokuto’s jaw and neck and felt the muscle contract. Warmth blossomed in his chest. He grazed his teeth down the long expanse of Bokuto’s neck, darting out his tongue to cover the swell of his Adams apple and to press another kiss to the divot between his collarbones at the dip in-between them. 

“Oh my god,” Bokuto praised and Keiji was once again thankful that nobody else was home.

Keiji shifted so his lips brushed the side of Bokuto’s neck and he shuddered. Quickly he flicked his eyes upward to gauge Bokuto’s reaction and saw how tightly his eyes were closed, the uneven rise and fall of his chest. It spurred something new in Keiji’s gut; something darker and deeper than the usual feelings Bokuto spurred in him.

Without a second thought he began to suck on the muscle of Bokuto’s neck, tongue soothing what his teeth gently grazed.

A long and languid moan fell out of Bokuto’s mouth.

Keiji pulled back and when he met Bokuto’s eyes he was flush with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, that was so embarrassing, oh my god. I didn’t even know I could _make_ that noise.”

Keiji couldn’t even put into words the indescribable way it made him feel. “Do it again.”

“What?”

Keiji wondered what he himself looked like laid out on his back below Bokuto, flushed and breathing heavily. He was overwhelmingly turned on. “I want to make you moan again.”

Bokuto looked so unbelievably embarrassed that Keiji couldn’t even find it in himself to be. Instead he laughed at the worried crinkle in Bokuto’s eyebrow and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth, to his chin. Back down his neck. He lapped desperately at the displayed skin, hungry for more. His hands moved to feel the taut muscles of Bokuto’s back where he held himself above him. Bokuto’s breathing was unsteady in his ear.

Keiji tentatively pressed his thumbs underneath Bokuto’s shirt and relished in the sharp intake of air before Bokuto’s lips were back on his, desperately kissing into Keiji’s mouth and pushing him further into the mattress.

“Is this okay?” Keiji pulled back to ask before his hands roamed further, already aware of Bokuto’s hesitation, but Bokuto was nodding and his lips were reattached to Keiji before he could even think.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto moaned as Keiji traced the broad muscles with his palms, roaming over planes of untouched skin.

 _Nobody else gets to touch him here_ , Keiji thought with pride as his fingertips traced Bokuto’s stomach. _Just me. Just me._

He hoped he was doing all this right. He nervously contemplated the idea that everything he was doing was wrong and felt awful and awkward, but every time Bokuto gasped or moaned he was utterly reassured. Bokuto moved and suddenly it Keiji breathing unevenly as Bokuto kissed up and down his neck, caging him with one hand and interlacing their other.

—-

At two fifty-seven in the morning Keiji woke up panting and afraid in his bed. Sweat was dripping down the nape of his neck and tears clung to his lashes. He blinked them away before they could fall.

He checked his phone for the time as his mind lost a tangible grip on the nightmare. A glance to his right showed Bokuto snoring lightly with his cheek pressed into the pillow, arms buried somewhere deep beneath it as he clutched it to his chest, deep in slumber. A string of drool hung from his open mouth and Keiji fought the tired urge to wipe it away. Keiji swung his legs over the side of the bed to get a drink, dragging a fist across his eyes as he stumbled to his feet.

The stairs creaked beneath his weight and he avoided the creaky, loose floorboard below them with practiced ease. He fumbled for a light switch as he padded to the kitchen.

What was his nightmare about again? Distantly he recalled something to do with a vaguely-humanoid, smudgy figure lunging towards him before he startled awake but the rest of the details were blurry.

He filled the glass and drank from it like a man in the desert drank for the first time in months after being marooned. It felt like he couldn’t get enough; his throat was parched and starved for it.

Maybe his nightmare had something to do with his throat- it would explain the scratching sensation the water couldn’t get rid of.

“A bit late for a drink, Keiji.”

He almost dropped the glass in surprise, whirring round at the sharp clip of his mothers voice from her place at the dining table, clicking away at her laptop, wired glasses firm on the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry.”

“You should get to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

Her robe was tied tight around her waist. Her hair was in a neat, plaited pile atop her head. Even at three in the morning his mother looked pristine. She was a piece of pottery they locked in glass cabinets at museums; she would always appear this idyllic, even if the lights were off and nobody was looking. She was unchanging. He cocked his head.

“Are you working?”

She sighed, skin-deep and placid. “I am always working.”

“Why didn’t you turn the lights on? It’s pitch black.”

She didn’t look at him. Continued typing. “Forgot.”

Keiji finished his water and placed the glass upside-down in the sink. “I’ll leave the light on when I go.”

“Has Bokuto gone home?”

“He’s staying the night.”

If Keiji hadn’t become hyper-attuned to his mothers minor mannerisms due to her otherwise non-existent signs of emotions he would have missed the tiny flick of her eyebrow, the micro-second delay in her fingers from one key to the next.

“Bokuto has been coming over rather frequently recently, don’t you think?”

Keiji felt his heart stop. He forced his breaths to come evenly and wished the glass was still in his hands so he wouldn’t have to worry about his fidgeting fingers giving him away.

How was the best way to respond to this? He bought up list after list in his head.

“He’s going away to University in a few months. He’s trying to see everyone before he leaves.”

“It seems Bokuto may not have done the math on “ _everyone”_ very well. He seems to be favouring some of his teammate perhaps a little … disproportionately.”

“We’re not just teammates. We’re friends.”

“Mmm.” His mother didn’t look away from her screen. Keiji wanted to see her expression more than anything. “Don’t let your grades slip. He may not have to worry about school anymore but you still have a year left.”

Two halves of Keiji were waging a war inside him: the side that wanted to defend Bokuto, the person he loved more than anything, over anything else, and the side that sought so desperately for his parents love and praise and approval.

She was painting Bokuto as a bad influence, but the fear backed Keiji into a corner.

“I am still top of my class, mother.”

“Keep it that way, Keiji.” She sighed. “For your own sake, please.”

Keiji nodded and left before he could say anything else to contribute to the dam of guilt building in his chest.

Bokuto stirred when Keiji crawled back into the bed, the futon on the floor completely abandoned, but he did not wake. Keiji stared at him for an eternity before falling into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all !!
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is slightly late - I've just moved five hours for my first year of University and I'm incredibly disoriented and busy! Hopefully I adjust soon so still be expecting chapters every sunday :))
> 
> secondly the chapter rating may bump up to mature sometime in the next few chapters so i will put a warning before anything happens.
> 
> and thirdly just a big thank you to everyone who is reading !!! Especially to those who read the chapters weekly as they come out and comment; at this point im literally writing this story for you. it's officially over halfway done so i jsut wanted to say thank you for sticking with me :))


	14. wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh i just want someone to hold my hand  
> and tell me i'm pretty and i'm sweet and i'm kind  
> but i don't expect you to understand
> 
> -the romantic, lauryn marie
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> •f slur  
> •emotional distress  
> •internalized homophobia

“You drew this?” Bokuto asked, cross-legged and wide-eyed on Keiji’s floor.

“Yeah.”

“It’s amazing!”

Keiji _was_ pretty proud of the piece. It wasn’t perfect but it was one of his favourites- something he had drawn in the back of a long car-ride with his family cramped either side of him.

Usually his art was rigid. Keiji liked to draw scenery- buildings and valleys and houses as opposed to people, but this piece was much more carefree than his usual buildings. It was of a forest he could see bordering a hill. The trees stretched tall and flow to the top of the page. He had wanted to paint it but didn’t have time, instead leaving it in pencil smudges.

“Thank you.”

Bokuto flipped page after page of Keiji’s sketchbook, taking them all in with quiet (and sometimes audible) admiration.

One page was filled with studies of his dining room, the stagnant table and chairs and cool marble tiles, personified dark shadows stretching across them. Keiji leaned his head on Bokuto’s shoulder as he turned the page.

Most of the drawings weren’t anything special but Bokuto ran his fingers along the graphite as though they had been done by one of the greats, as though he was afraid of distorting the charcoal.

“Is that your mom?”

“And my dad,” Keiji pointed out. Bokuto nodded.

They were sat in the dining room with their chins on their hands, a replica of a photo Keiji had once snapped from the gap in the banister at the bottom stair. He so vividly remembered drawing this one- their bodies and the surroundings were structural but he couldn’t get their faces quite right, and so he had scribbled them out in a fit of emotion. Bokuto stared at it.

“I like this one,” Keiji interjected when they reached another of his favourites.

It was one of the few he had coloured. A towering bridge over a lake with the dappled reflections of cars and the moonlight in the water below. Drawn from one of the few times Keiji had left his home after dark.

“I like this one too!” Bokuto said. “I like all of them.”

He turned the page. A smile crawled onto his face and he side-eyed Keiji.

“Is this from the training camp? The one at Nekoma?”

“I couldn’t sleep that night.”

It was the view from their balcony. Keiji hadn’t dared to open the door but he had pressed himself against the cool glass to look at the grassy verges below and the small light cast from the dimming streetlights. The jut of the doorway was just visible. Hastily he had scribbled in some of the flowers he could see in the field and shoved the book back in his bag.

It looked as though a page was missing. Keiji couldn’t recall what it was, but he didn’t remember ever tearing one out. Bokuto turned the page before Keiji could think about it, though.

The sound of soft paper turning continued. Keiji’s eyes closed as he leaned his full weight against Bokuto, content to focus on his steady breathing instead. Bokuto’s shoulder felt softer when Keiji was tired.

Keiji could feel the sharp inhale before he could hear it.

“Is this… is this me?”

Keiji’s eyes fluttered open. Usually he might have been defensive, _embarrassed,_ but his drowsiness crushed any self-defeating emotions that might have overtook him.

On the page in smudgy graphite was Bokuto, clad in his oversized hoodie and with his hair plastered to his head in post-shower slumber, curled on his side and clutching a pillow in Keiji’s bed. He had looked so serene.

“Yeah.” Keiji admitted, soft, and burrowed his face further. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no of course I don’t!” Bokuto gingerly pressed his fingertip to the smudged lines of his fists, the ones he always made in his sleep, moving to the soft lines of his face. “You made me look beautiful.”

“You _are_ beautiful.”

Bokuto looked at him through white eyelashes and Keiji was again struck with how absolutely in love with this boy. He closed his eyes again.

Home. He felt safe and at home against Bokuto, trusting him with this intimate piece of himself that he never showed anybody, even with his eyes closed.

The soft turn of the page sent him to sleep.

—

“How many days left now?”

“Five. We leave on Friday.”

“Well just think- I could drive you there and then stay for a few nights in a hotel or something to watch. Or you could drive up in my car. It’s fine as long as I’m there to supervise and I think you’d be fine. Or we could switch halfway.”

Keiji hadn’t gotten back in his brothers car since the _incident_. He wasn’t sure he could, now.

“The coach is taking us all. That’s unnecessary.”

“Well I could just come and watch anyway. You’re my brother, I don’t need an excuse to come see your _national game_.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to.” There’s a pause. “Bokuto said you’re really good.”

“Yeah, well, Bokuto says a lot of things.”

“So you’re not good?”

Keiji considered. “I could be better.”

Kazumi barked a laugh. “So you _are_ good.”

“Bokuto’s better.”

“Bokuto’s a top five ace. He doesn’t count.”

“Almost top three.”

“Mhmm.”

As though summoned a shape rounded the corner of the changing room, black-and-grey hair and sweaty, beaming smile all too familiar. Keiji’s eyes flicked to the clock and he realised he had been on the phone for over five minutes. Usually he kept them as brief as possible. _What had gotten into him?_ “I’m gonna have to go. I’m missing practice.”

“Practice for _nationals_?”

“Regular volleyball practice. That thing I’ve been doing every day for six _years_ now.”

Bokuto disappeared from the doorway and Keiji felt strong arms snaking around his waist, Bokuto’s soft hair tickled his jaw as he buried his face in the back of his neck.

“Okay, okay, I won’t keep you then. Do you want pizza for dinner? I’m buying.”

“Only if-”

“-it’s the veggie one. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll never understand your food choices.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you at home soon.”

“Bye.”

“Was that Kazumi?” Bokuto asked into Keiji’s jaw. Keiji quickly pressed a kiss to his lips and pulled out of his arms.

“Yeah. Come on, the teams probably missing us.”

“One more minute, pleaaaase. I’ve not seen you in ages.”

That was entirely untrue. Since their first official date he never _stopped_ seeing Bokuto anymore. Which was a good thing. Definitely a good thing. He told Bokuto this.

“Can I come over tonight?” He asked. Keiji nodded before he even thought about it.

When Bokuto sat down on the bench in the changing rooms Keiji instinctively stepped in between his legs, delicately draping his hands to rest on Bokuto’s shoulders. He traced the hard muscle with his fingertips, moving to gently trail up the column of his throat.

“Nationals on Friday.” Bokuto hummed. Keiji could feel it in his fingertips. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” Bokuto admitted. “Mostly excited, though! We’ve been waiting so long.”

“Do you think we have a chance of winning?”

“Obviously.”

He said it so matter-of-factly.

Keiji wished he saw things so black-and-white as Bokuto did. He wished he could have that constant, unrelenting faith that he admired in Bokuto so much. It bought a small smile to his face to see it.

“Do you?” Bokuto asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Keiji’s hands stilled, and then linked behind Bokuto’s neck. “I think we really do.”

“Oh, my sister chose her wedding dress, do you wanna see?”

“Yeah, show me.”

Keiji moved so he was sat on the bench beside Bokuto, his legs resting just over Bokuto’s lap. They were larger than Keiji’s; slightly longer and with thicker muscle where Keiji’s was lean. The thin material long kneepads prevented their thighs from touching.

He unlocked his phone ( _the password was 2009. Bokuto’s birthday._ ) and the page opened on a text conversation with his sister.

**_From: Kumiko_ **

_HEY HEYYYYY GUESS WHO BOUGHT THEIR WEDDING DRESS_

**_From: Kumiko_ **

_ILL SEND U A PIC BUT U CANT SHOW EICHI ITS BAD LUCK_

**_From: Kumiko_ **

_[attachment: 1}_

Bokuto thumbed open the image and Keiji got his first look at it, and, really, his first proper look at Bokuto’s older sisters.

Kumiko was front and centre in all her splendour. Her hair was long and silky black, falling almost to her waist in a middle part. Her jawline was soft and her eyes were deep brown, but her face was split in two with a smile identical to Bokuto’s. Keiji was almost surprised to see the amount of dark black tattoos she had covering her arms, but he didn’t comment on them.

Keiji didn’t know much about dresses but he could tell this one was stunning. It hung loose of her shoulders and fell softly to the floor, sparkly and illuminated in the parlours lighting, held together with spring clamps.

And in the background was only who Keiji could presume was Bokuto’s other sister, Reina, photobombing with a peace-sign, though Keiji could see she had been crying by the puffiness of her red eyes.

Her hair was cut to her shoulders and worn in two messy plaits. Large, square glasses sat on the bridge of her nose and she wore a long black overcoat.

Both of them looked vaguely like Bokuto. He could feel the personality radiating off of them through the phone.

“What do you think?”

“It looks nice. It suits her.”

“I think so too!” Bokuto zoomed in on the image. “It’s so weird to think she’s getting married. My _sister._ She’s getting so old.”

“I know what you mean.” Kazumi wasn’t getting married but Keiji remembered when he left for college, when he moved out. The changes had slapped him in the face.

“Okay, we should probably get to practice now before they all yell at us,” Bokuto said finally and exited out of the photo. Keiji’s eyes widened.

“Your phone background.”

Bokuto stopped.

Nestled behind the wall of apps was a photo of Keiji taken from the side, thick glasses slipping down his nose as he read a book deep in Bokuto’s pillows, wearing Bokuto’s favourite green hoodie. He must have taken a shower because his hair was damp. Keiji had never seen this photo. He didn’t know Bokuto had even taken one.

“Oh, I hope you don’t think it’s weird! I took it a few weeks ago when you stayed over. You just looked so adorable. It’s only my home screen so nobody else will see it! But I’ll change it if you like-”

“No, don’t change it.”

Bokuto watched Keiji’s expression for a second. Then he smiled.

“Okay!”

They went back out into the gym and Keiji set ball after ball, and Bokuto spiked them all.

—

“I like your house,” Bokuto said with a grin as he removed his shoes in the entryway.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It feels so big.”

“I hate my house. I like yours more.”

“Maybe we should swap. You could have my bedroom!”

It already felt like Keiji had his own home there, right in Bokuto’s bed. Maybe the change wouldn’t be so bad. What would it be like to live somewhere that wasn’t here? He seemed to spend more time in Bokuto’s home than in his own these days.

“I don’t know what we have for dinner,” Keiji said mindlessly as they walked down the hall. Kazumi had flaked out on the ordering-pizza he said he would earlier seemingly out of nowhere, leaving Keiji to cook for himself. He would have grabbed Bokuto’s hand if he were certain Kazumi wasn’t home. “I’ll probably just have to cook something simple.”

“I’ll eat anything! I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to! You’ll have to show me how, though. I’ve never really cooked much.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve got too many little siblings, usually gran will just cook us up something big and we all share.”

Keiji had cooked nearly every day of his life. It was odd to imagine someone being unable to do so.

“Cool.”

“Cool!”

However, when they turned the corner into Keiji’s kitchen he was vaguely surprised to see a figure already seated at the table, slumped and working.

“Oh. Hello.”

“Keiji,” his mother levelled him, and then her eyes darted to the figure stood tall next to him. “Bokuto.”

“Akaashi-san!” Bokuto bowed eagerly. Keiji was distantly thankful he _hadn’t_ grabbed Bokuto’s hand. “It’s good to see you!”

“Mmm.”

His stomach plummeted. Something was off about his mother. She sat completely rigid and her eyes darted between the two boys with a calculated gaze. It took everything in him not to squirm under his mothers unwarranted scrutiny.

Cold and hard were the worst words Keiji would use to describe his mother if asked, but today she seemed almost unkempt. Manic. The only giveaways were how his mothers eyes couldn’t seem to stay settled, and how she kept tapping her fingers against the glass of their table.

“I didn’t know you’d be home today,” Keiji tried.

“No?”

“Your shift is until 9pm.”

“The case was dropped. Tragically. I’ll be home until further notice, unpaid, un-working,” she shuffled some of the papers in her hands. “Unhappy.”

“Oh,” Keiji replied dumbfounded. He shifted nervously from foot to foot and hoped nobody noticed. “I was going to make Bokuto and I dinner.”

“I’ll cook.” His mom said and something about the tone seemed dark. It brought a cold sweat to Keiji’s neck. “Bokuto, would you help me in the kitchen?”

Bokuto glanced towards Keiji, who answered before he had the chance. “I’ll help. Bokuto, stay here.”

Bokuto wrung his fingers together. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“Stay here.”

When he entered the kitchen his mother was already pulling pots and pans from left, right and centre.

“I didn’t ask for _your_ help, Keiji,” she said without turning around.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m cooking.” She slammed the pot on the table. “For the _three_ of us.”

“Why are you angry?”

“Do I sound angry to you?”

She didn’t. But Keiji knew his mother: they were built the same way. Her hands were trembling on the pots handle.

“I’ll tell Bokuto to go home, if you don’t want him here.”

“No, no, no. Don’t be silly, I _want_ him here.”

His brain was rapidly trying to diagnose the problem, but then his mother was expertly serving up the food and bringing it out to the dining room.

His mother chose the chair opposite Bokuto. Keiji chose the one beside him, subtly trying to knock their thighs together in apology.

Bokuto fumbled. “Uh, this looks amazing, Mrs. Akaashi. Thank you!”

She smiled in response. It was fake.

“So… busy day at school, boys?” She speared her food.

Keiji nodded. He prodded his gently.

“Hm? I can’t hear you, Keiji.”

“It was busy,” he spoke up. “It’s almost end of the year.”

“And it’s nationals next week,” Bokuto interjected. “Akaashi’s working super hard!”

“I do wish you wouldn’t play that silly sport. Think of all the pointless hours you’ve put into it. And for what? You’ve got exams coming up too, remember. It’s not all fun and games.”

“We’ve actually got a shot at winning nationals, mom. We’ve made it before and our team is really-”

“Keiji we both know how this is going to end. A whole load of nothing for a team sport. What an utter waste.”

Keiji was utterly humiliated that this was happening in front of Bokuto, who he could see was concernedly eyeing him from his peripheral. Keiji ignored it, vowed to eat his food in silence and say nothing more.

Everything he did was wrong. The quicker he finished his food the quicker he could get out.

Bokuto couldn’t leave it alone though. His eyes were darting nervously between Keiji and his mother. Keiji wished he could have warned Bokuto that sticking up for him isn’t worth it.

“Akaashi’s doing so well though- really, he is. If anyone can do good at both it’s him.”

“And how are _your_ grades doing, Bokuto, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“ _My_ grades?”

“Mmm.”

“They’re- I’m failing maths, but I’m passing everything else.”

“And there’s my point.”

Keiji could feel the blow hit Bokuto, the shift in his demeanour as he looked down over his food in silence, twirling it around his fork and then un-twirling it.

“Mom, I don’t think-”

“Keiji, was I talking to you?”

The two sides in him warred again; protect Bokuto or obey his mother?

His mouth started again before he could stop it. He sounded angrier than he thought he was. “Can you stop it? Why are you being so-”

“Some people have got bright futures ahead of them, Keiji, and some people just don’t. I don’t want you throwing your life away because of one bad influence.”

 _“Bad influence?_ Mom we’re playing _volleyball,_ this is hardly- _”_

“I’m sorry, um, excuse me,” Bokuto stuttered and pushed back his chair, walking away from the table quickly and without looking back. Keiji immediately shut his mouth. After a split second he stood up to follow.

“Keiji sit down.”

He didn’t. He walked the length of the table but before he could get through to the stairs his mother grabbed his wrist tight.

“Sit. _Down.”_

Her eyes were glaciers. He couldn’t figure her out.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

His heart stopped. Without it beating incessantly in his ears the whole world went silent. That was answer enough for his mother, who scoffed and put her head in her hands.

“I knew it.”

Keiji left. Blood was pounding in his ears. An inch-thick slab of glass protected him from the outside, muffling all of his senses. The only thought in his head was _Bokuto, where is Bokuto?_

He had seen him go up the stairs so Keiji had presumed that he was heading to Keiji’s bedroom, but he heard the soft sniffles as he walked past the bathroom door.

“Bokuto?” He asked quietly. His knuckles gently brushed the hardwood of the door.

There wasn’t a response for a minute. Absently Keiji wondered if this was it, if his mother had ruined yet another thing Keiji loved.

“Go away.”

It was muffled and sad, but it was something. Keiji tried the knob but it was locked. Keiji was more frantic than he usually would have been.

_You’re in love with him, aren’t you?_

_You’re in love with him. Aren’t you?_

_In love with_ him. _Him._

_Aren’t you?_

“Bokuto, you have to let me in.”

“Leave me alone.”

There was a small _thump_ , and Keiji knew it was Bokuto slumping against the door. He was probably curled with his head on his knees, fingers tightly gripping his own arms for comfort. Keiji desperately pressed his forehead to the door. His fingers didn’t leave the knob.

“Please, Bokuto. She didn’t mean it. She just says stupid things, sometimes, because she can. Please let me in.”

She knows about them. How long before they _all_ know about them?

Akaashi Keiji, the boy-lover.

He could feel his breaths coming quicker. Would his mother tell his father?

Had she told him already? Did Kazumi know?

Why was he so _wrong?_

“No. I always do this. Always about me, always about me doing things wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong! This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let you come here. God, it’s always-”

He could feel the frustration welling up in his chest and he pressed his fists tightly to his eyes to avoid it leaking out.

_Faggot._

He was _so, so_ close to being better.

Everything he always did, had always done, was to make his parents proud, and he’s fucked it all up in one fell swoop.

“I always wish I was smart like you, Keiji. Always. Instead I’m just big and stupid and dumb-”

“You’re not dumb.”

“I am.”

“Bokuto, you’re not. You’re not stupid and you’re not dumb and you’re not-”

A sharp, soft cry made Keiji cut himself short. He tried to knob again. It was locked. He couldn’t just stand here and listen to Bokuto cry through the door as he was stranded on the opposite side. He needed to be in there. Bokuto needed to be in his arms. Tears were filling Keiji’s eyes. It was too much.

“What do you see in me, Akaashi? What do I even have to offer?”

“Let me in.”

“I wish I was so much better. I’m so, so bad.”

“Koutarou, open the door.”

His resolve must have been wearing thin because he did. Keiji waited for the sound of shuffling before opening it. He saw Bokuto hunched small on the floor and immediately pulled him into his arms, moving to press their backs to the bathtub.

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Bokuto cried into his shoulder and Keiji stroked up and down his back.

_We’re wrong._

“I’m sorry,” he whispered after a time, pressing the words with his lips to Bokuto’s hairline. “Koutarou I’m so sorry.”

_We’re wrong._

Bokuto didn’t say anything back. He just tightened his grip on Keiji’s jumper, pulling himself further and further into Keiji’s lap.

There were tear tracks down Bokuto’s ruddy, scrunched-up face. Keiji kissed them. They burnt his lips like battery acid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I need to apologise, as its been two months since the last update.  
> I have moved five hours to university and it's been incredibly rough. I miss my family a lot, and someone in my flat got covid and it was incredibly hard to power through.
> 
> But I am trying my absolute best to get the chapters out !! I've planned all of them out the last month or so and I know exactly where this story is going. I should be back to posting weekly (or, at the least, fortnightly) so please just bear with me 
> 
> And a huge huge huge thank you to everyone still reading, to everyone who has commented to motivate me to keep going. I love this story so much, I promise I'm going to finish it


	15. kazumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when the evening pulls the sun down,  
> and the day is almost through,  
> oh, the whole world it is sleeping,  
> but my world is you  
> can i be close to you?
> 
> -bloom, the paper kites

They had been here before, once, but Keiji still found himself in a state of awe stepping into the nationals stadium.

It was impressive; high-ceilinged corridors and bright white lighting in every room. The double-doors leading from one room to the other were sleek and had elegant grey handles, and all the students feet clacked on the tile in unison as they searched for their check-in point, watching all of the other teams mingling and talking amongst themselves. Keiji was, as always, plastered to Bokuto’s side. Sometimes it was difficult to stay calm in busy places but Bokuto took his mind off of it with his incessant ramblings.

“Are your family coming, Akaashi? I think mine are here! Most of them anyway, probably. I hope they cheer for me.”

“Kazumi is.”

“That’s cool! Is he a fan of volleyball? I don’t think I’ve seen him at our games before.”

“Not really.”

Keiji didn’t mention his parents but it hung between them like a paperweight. He was trying really, _really_ hard not to think about his parents. They were cold before; they were colder now they knew.

“My family will probably cheer for you too! They really like you!”

“Will your family cheer for _me,_ Bokuto-san?” Komi asked, batting his eyelashes as he pushed up into Bokuto’s space.

“Or _me,_ Bokuto-san?” Konoha mimicked.

“Aw, leave him alone guys,” Sarakui defended. Keiji almost agreed with him before he continued. “We all know _Akaashi_ is his favourite.”

“Look, it’s Kuroo!” Bokuto exclaimed, red faced and embarrassed. “Akaashi lets go say hi!”

He heard the trio snickering as he followed Bokuto through the thickets of players and elected to pretend he did not.

“Kuroo!” Bokuto shouted, launching himself over the Nekoma-captains back, wringing his neck with how tightly his arms were wrapped around it. Kuroo stumbled to adjust himself.

“Bokuto! Oh man!”

Keiji wasn’t sure if they were fighting of hugging. By the aversion of his eyes he took it Kenma didn’t either. They nodded quietly to eachother in acknowledgement.

“Kozume-san.”

“Akaashi.”

“How are you recovering from your _epic defeat by us?”_ Bokuto taunted.

“We have emerged from the other side stronger, with more wisdom and knowledge, and the ability to kick your ass _thoroughly.”_

“If you could kick my ass you would have done it already!”

“Not at all. I was just waiting until nationals, where thousands of people will be seeing it.”

Bokuto paled.

“While Kuroo-san’s team may have gotten stronger, ours has too. We have got nothing to worry about Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashi-kun! It has been too, too long! What have you been up to recently?”

Keiji schools his face into a neutral expression but he can see Bokuto’s cheeks flare red- and it appears by his grin that Kuroo can see it too. Too clever for his own good.

He swivels back around, face elongated in a smug expression.

“I see, I see. Good for you. Can’t believe I wasn’t informed, though.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Keiji said cooly. His fingers itched.

“Yeah, stupid Kuroo. Ha. Because you’re _stupid.”_

“Okay, I have an idea!”

“Yes?” Bokuto’s eyes were round and owlish. Kuroo grinned.

“If you guys win I’m right, and if you lose I’m wrong.”

“Okay! Wait-” Bokuto took a second to do the math. “-Wait, no!”

“Have fun losing nationals, guys!” Kuroo shouted as he was dragged away by Kenma, their team finally having checked in. Bokuto swivelled to look at Keiji.

“I didn’t tell him! I swear!”

“No, no, I know.”

“He’s just being stupid. He won’t tell anyone, I promise! He probably doesn’t even know anything.”

“Bokuto-san!”

A flurry of orange hair darted past and suddenly Karasuno’s tiny decoy was hanging in Bokuto’s arms.

“Hinata!” Bokuto’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, Kuroo forgotten. “How are you? Practiced any more of my _cool moves?”_

“Bokuto-san! I think I’ve mastered your rebound hit! Next I’m gonna learn your cross shot, and then there won’t be a blocker in Japan that can stop me!”

“That’s my protege! We won’t be so easily beat, though. You gotta bring your best every time!”

Bokuto jabbed his thumb into his chest as he said this. Hinata’s eyes sparkled.

“Wow!”

“I know!”

Keiji rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to the bathroom, Bokuto-san. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He excused himself. He hadn’t been to the nationals arena enough times to remember the way so relied on the signage to point him in the right direction, navigating the crowd of (somewhat intimidating) athletes.

The bathroom, when he stepped inside, was empty, for which he let out a tiny tense breath. He liked the quiet. When he was washing his hands he caught a momentary glimpse of himself in the mirror and was briefly disoriented.

It was odd, seeing himself. He wasn’t sure what he expected to look like, but he just looked like himself. A bit tired, a slight purple tinged the skin underneath his eyes. His hair was somewhat unkempt. He supposed his jaw was different, somewhat. Softer. His fingers were knobblier than he remembered. His eyes were less blue and more grey. He could see the fine lines of his cheekbones underneath the thin white of his face.

His hands were no longer wet, though he couldn’t remember drying them.

A dull buzzing started on the counter but quickly stopped. His phone inched closer. A bright text message flashed across the screen

**_From: Kazumi_ **

_Been at this hotel for twenty minutes - think it’s too soon to call for room service? :PP_

How nonchalant. The idea of the Kazumi from last year texting him something so casually was so unthinkably out of the question that Keiji would have been caught of guard if a response hadn’t come so easily.

**_From: Keijiii_ **

_You’d better tip the staff well._

He saw his shape in the mirror shift when he stood up, shifting again as he slipped his phone into his front pocket and turned to leave.

Perhaps _he_ wasn’t who he was last year either. Maybe he was a fool for thinking things would stay the same.

—

The first night in a new place was always the scariest; especially when it was somewhere Keiji knew he would struggle to go about his routines discreetly. Of course he had been to training camps before, and even to nationals once before so Coach Yamiji was not unfamiliar with Keiji’s prerequisites, but that never made it much easier. Keeping it under wraps from the team was difficult.

When it was his turn for their evening bath he simply never returned. Instead he made a beeline for the coach’s room, where he knew he would find him already waiting. He only had to knock once before the door swung open and the coach’s weathered face acknowledged him.

“Alright, Akaashi? Ready to go.”

“Yes, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course. Let me just go grab my keys.”

Coach locked the door behind him. Keiji’s pulled a piece of long-dead skin off his thumb.

The halls were mostly empty at this time, so they passed through without drawing the attention of many. It wouldn’t have looked too odd either- just a boy and his coach going for a walk of the halls. They may have well been on their way to a late night practice, or discussing game theory for their first game in two days, or simply bumped into eachother and are walking back the same way.

It didn’t take long to examine the windows. The large gym was empty, so it was the long walk and the bitter air that was worse than the actual task. And Coach Yamiji had seen Keiji do this enough times to not be all that interested in it anymore, which dried the cool sweat on Keiji’s neck.

It was harder when he felt an urge to check the windows of some other teams quarters, because he knew that was something he was completely unauthorised to do. As they walked past the doors to Nekoma he felt the familiar cold sweat on the back of his neck, the nervous twitching of his fingers. It was in the way his feet felt like lead on the tile and he struggled to shuffle his way forward.

“Akaashi,” Yamiji reprimanded as Keiji’s eyes fixated on the door. _It would be so easy to just nudge it open. I doubt they’ve locked it._

“Sorry, coming.”

Yamiji sighed. “Can’t go in there, I’m afraid. Not this time. Come, we’ll check the hallway.”

 _A compromise._ Coach was getting good at understanding how to keep his compulsions at bay, the way you replace a teething child from your thumb to a toy to promote better growth. He’s finding a better fit.

By the time they got to the Fukurodani room Keiji was already instilled with a warm state of calm. The windows here were ceiling to floor, leading out onto a large stone balcony overlooking a patch of grass and road below. Balconies made him more nervous than windows, but something about being surrounded by a trusted group of boys made it better. Yamiji had walked him the whole way back.

“Thank you, sir,” Keiji bowed. Yamiji laughed.

“No problem, Akaashi. You know where to find me.”

The team was already winding down for bed. Half the team were on their backs on their futons, tossing a volleyball to one another without being able to see properly where it was going, giggling when it inevitably landed in someones face or their thighs. Onaga was sat by his laptop screen watching with rapt attention. Komi was sound asleep in the centre of it all. Everybody was being quieter than usual to let him sleep.

Exhausted, Keiji lay on his futon and entertained the idea of falling asleep right now. He had to wait for everyone to sleep before he could check the balcony. He turned on his phone and was content to rewatch old games on his phone for an hour. Two hours.

Then the lights flickered out and the boys soft snores followed soon after. He pushed himself up on his elbows and, as expected, everybody was sound asleep. Carefully he stepped over the sleeping bodies to the massive sliding doors.

Three times he checked the giant windows, perfectly aligning the handles to lock vertically. He went to check the door but was gripped by the night chill which has made its way inside through the thin sliver of space. Slow cold. He wanted to feel it on his fingers.

He hated these things usually. Balconies. Keiji slid the door open as quietly as he could, stepping out onto the concrete overhang in his socks and letting the cold pull up goosebumps on his shins, over the long, bare skin of his arms. Tentatively he walked up towards the wall and glimpsed over it. The lurch of his stomach pulled him back but sent adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Instead he balanced his forearms on the wall, contenting himself to watch the dark night of the sky. The quiet was, for once, not unbearable. He couldn’t help but think of how much his father would love this view.

The sound of the sliding door jolted him out of his skin, but Bokuto’s voice calmed him before his mind raced to conclusions.

“Wow, boy, it’s sure cold out here huh? What are you doing out here, ‘Kaashi?”

Similarly to himself Bokuto was just wearing shorts and socks, but he had a massive hoodie on where Keiji had only a shirt. Keiji eyed him apprehensively.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I think I was, for a bit, but then I got cold so I woke up, and then I saw you weren’t there and I got a bit worried, but then I saw you were out here so it’s all okay!” Bokuto said in one breath, and then cocked his head. “ _Are_ you okay?”

“I think so,” Keiji said, and then he realised his hands were shaking on the balcony. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, you’re shaking! Are you cold? How long have you been out here?”

Keiji blinked. He had lost track of time.

“I’m not sure, I left my phone inside. Half hour?”

Bokuto touched Keiji’s hand. “You’re freezing! Here, take this-”

Bokuto was already taking off his massive hoodie and holding it out to Keiji.

“Are you sure?”

Keiji knew he had his own hoodie inside somewhere and that it was entirely illogical to take Bokuto’s hoodie when he could take four steps and be inside, but the truth was that he wanted to wear it. Something about wearing Bokuto’s clothes made him feel protected.

“Of course! I run warm anyway. Can we sit down, though? I think I’m still half asleep.”

He looked half asleep. His hair was plastered flat to his head. The concrete was cold on the back of his legs so he clutched them to his chest. Bokuto, seemingly oblivious to the cold, sat cross legged. Keiji pulled the hoodie on and was engulfed in Bokuto’s lingering warmth.

“Why are you out here in the cold, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asked, head butted Keiji’s shoulder. “Keiji.”

“I dunno. I just wanted to come out.”

“That’s not like you. You said you don’t like balconies.”

“I know, I think I just-” he struggled to find the words. “I can’t stop thinking.”

Bokuto pouted. His eyes were round and confused. “About what?”

Keiji blinked up at the sky. “Everything.”

“Your parents?”

“Yes.”

Bokuto took Keiji’s hand in his and played with his fingers. “The game tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Me?”Bokuto linked their hands together.

“Yes.”

Bokuto was quiet for a little bit. The silence was nice.

“Your parents aren’t right, you know?”

Keiji _did_ know, distantly. His and Bokuto’s love was no different from anyone elsess. Hearing it from Bokuto was different, though.

“I know.”

There was another pause. Keiji could feel Bokuto’s fingers tracing the crease of his palm.

“What happened with Kazumi?”

The question pulled the air from Keiji’s lungs. It was something they had been side-stepping for so long that the blunt force of the question caught him off guard. He had half expected them to never talk about it, even though he knew that was stupid.

“It’s a long story.”

“I want to hear it. Please.”

“It’s stupid. Looking back on it it’s so stupid.”

“No it wasn’t. Not if it made you so sad.”

“I wasn’t sad. I was- I was _angry._ I was frustrated and hurt and annoyed.”

“What happened?”

It had all been building to this. He knew he had to tell Bokuto eventually what caused the fallout between him and his brother, but after everything it seemed so silly. It was all he could do to clutch onto the feelings and spills of resentment and paint them for Bokuto, but how would he ever understand?

But Bokuto had told him about _his_ brother, Shinjiro. He took a breath.

“I was- fourteen, I think? Maybe fifteen?” The words stuck in his throat. Bokuto rubbed his thumb along Keiji’s palm encouragingly. “I had been professionally diagnosed for about two years.”

Bokuto didn’t say anything. He held Keiji’s hand and was quiet, and he watched him with the most patient eyes in the world.

“It was really hard for everyone to adjust. I mean, I was the same person as I was before but the name _O.C.D._ really changed everything. My parents were sending me to behavioural therapy and I had these long, intricate routines which took hours and hours to do every single day. Worse than they are now. I can do the windows in less than an hour but these took all morning. I used to do them in the morning _and_ the evening back then.”

“Why did it change?”

“I don’t know. I’m just getting better, I think.”

Bokuto kissed his knuckle.

“It was really hard having people in the house back then because I used to be insanely paranoid. I hated it. I would make them all leave their shoes and bags at the door and empty their pockets on the table, and I would follow them around the whole time. It was awful.” He paused. “Especially for Kazumi.”

“Kazumi?”

He nodded. “Kazumi was 17. He wanted to have his friends over, and be in a band, and have a girlfriend and all these other things he couldn’t do because of me, because _I_ didn’t like it. He wanted his own space but I was there every morning and every night, checking his windows and taking control of all these things that weren’t mine.”

“That isn’t your fault, Keiji. You can’t help that-”

“I know,” he cut Bokuto off before Bokuto got too annoyed. He could feel the grip on his hand tighten. “I know, but it’s not _his_ fault either. And it got really bad.

But then I started to notice things. I would go and check all the windows were locked, but when I checked them in the morning the handles weren’t completely parallel, and I _always_ leave them parallel. And I asked everyone and they said they hadn’t touched them so I started to get really paranoid, and I thought something was wrong and someone was able to get in and I couldn’t sleep for weeks. It was on my mind all day, every day. At school. At home.”

“That’s awful.”

“It just got worse and worse. I came into the kitchen one morning and it was open, just slightly, and I had a complete meltdown. I couldn’t go to school for days because I couldn’t sleep, because I thought someone was in the house.

So one night, about a week later, I decided I was going to double check the windows at night. They all seemed fine until I got to Kazumi’s door.”

Bokuto’s fingers tightened on his. Keiji wasn’t sure why just the memory made him shudder. “The window was wide open. He was just laying on his bed. He hadn’t noticed me come in.”

“Kazumi was opening the windows?”

“He shouted at me really badly, that it was his room and he could do what he wanted, that I didn’t own the house. He had been going and opening the windows around the house at random to scare me, to try and stop me. It absolutely ruined me. I thought I was getting better but that set me back years.”

“That’s awful.”

“He hated me.” Keiji laughed, sadly. “He really, really did. And I hated him too. I had a friend over once and Kazumi told him everything that was wrong with me, trying to humiliate me, trying to get the boy to go home. Because if had a hard time with friends over, so should I. He had a sleepover once, and he had everyone sit against the door so I couldn’t come in, and I was crying and begging and screaming to come in because I had to shut his window and I couldn’t.” Keiji had to take a breath. The scenes were playing his head like they happened yesterday- the _taunting,_ the _laughing. “_ He told everyone in school about my O.C.D. It’s why I don’t really tell anyone now.”

“You told me.”

“Yeah,” Keiji agreed. “Because I trust you.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Of course I do.”

“I trust you too.”

Keiji nestled his head into Bokuto’s shoulder. He prayed that the team was fast-asleep and couldn’t see them through the glass doors.

“I think Kazumi is getting better, though. I think _we’re_ better.”

“I really hope so.” Bokuto rubbed his nose through Keiji’s hair. “You deserve to be happy. More than anyone else in the world.”

“I’m going to miss you when you leave,” Keiji said out of nowhere. The words must have been living somewhere in the back of his mind for a while now. “When you go off to University. I’ll miss you so much.”

“We’ll still be together. Forever and ever. I’ll call you every single day and I’ll visit every weekend.”

They went back to bed some time later, picking their way through the crowd of sleeping boys. Keiji handed Bokuto his jumper back. Bokuto got into the bed beside him and smiled. Bokuto poked his finger out of the blanket to brush under Keiji’s eyelid.

“Eyelash.” He blew it away.

“Sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

—

“NICE RECEIVE!”

Keiji took a second to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before sprinting to get beneath the ball. The stadium lights were boring a hole in his head, and his jersey was sticking to his back and his joints.

“Sarakui!” He yelled.

 _From this angle, yes, YES._ The weight of the ball was all encompassing, and then it was being tossed in a high arc through the stadium air, just like Sarakui likes to set him up for the perfect cross spike.

_That should get him around the block, as long as he manages a clean hit._

A resounding slam and the ball was over the net.

“SARAKUI!” They yelled in unison.

Keiji was feeling the heat of the match. They were getting awfully close to match point in the second set, having already snatched the first. _Only two more points to win._

His joints were aching in the best way possible. His muscles were sore. He had hit the floor too roughly on a receive in the first set and he’s sure that his knee is going to come up in a deep purple bruise. If they won this there would be another game tomorrow and Keiji knew he would be feeling it.

It was exhilarating. This was why he loved volleyball. He wouldn’t get this rush of adrenaline, this drive of passion anywhere else, surrounded by people who feel the exact same way as him. It was his analytical game sense that got him here, along with all his hard work and a dedicated team behind him.

 _Your team, next year,_ the voice in his head reasoned. For the first time he didn’t recoil from the thought.

It was Fukurodani’s serve. Onaga slapped the ball into the floor twice before sending it crashing through the air. Keiji was convinced it was a service ace until their libero dived for it, sending it hurtling through the air, over the setter and straight to their ace who slammed it down.

Komi picked it up, though barely.

“Sorry!” He yelled as he rolled upwards.

The ball was too far left. Bokuto had to move backwards for Keiji to jump to get it, and even then he wasn’t positioned under it correctly. It would be awkward to do _anything_ other than create a chance ball at this moment.

He jumped and positioned his hands below the ball, watching his hitters compensate for his mistake and ready to jump for his set.

Then Keiji tapped it over the net. It floated to the floor before their libero could get below it.

Keiji landed on his feet, hands still raised as to set as the whistle blew and the point went to them.

“MATCH POINT!”

Their team yelled, ran and harshly high-fived Keiji. His hands were stinging. His blood was rushing.

“AKAASHI KEIJI!” A voice chanted from the crowd, audible above all else. Keiji followed it to the stands.

There in the front row wearing a Fukurodani scarf and the number 5 on both cheeks was Kazumi, hands raised in cheer as he screamed. Keiji hadn’t noticed him, had almost forgotten he was in the crowd somewhere.

His brother had really come to watch him. A grin fought its way onto his face against his will, and he slapped his head in his hands to try and fight it.

 _Don’t screw up now,_ he warned himself. _Somebody’s cheering you on._

Onaga’s serve again. He dropped his knees to a looser stance, ready to chase the ball when it inevitably gets sent back, and looked to his left to see Bokuto mirroring him, grinning and sweaty and on top of the world.

_He’s mine. The whole world is watching him and he’s mine._

Onaga sent the ball hurtling over the net, but they were ready when it was sent back. Washio received the ball cleanly to where Keiji was standing, and all of Fukurodani began a run up at the same time.

_Synchronised attack._

He debated where to send the ball to but his hands moved before his head did, and he trusted they knew the way.

The ball shot towards their ace and Bokuto sent it over in a crushing cross-spike, hurtling past any and all blockers. Their libero lunged forward to receive it and the ball skimmed his arms before flying into the crowd.

They all landed unanimously as the crowd broke out into cheer. He was moving before he could stop himself, flushed and grinning and overwhelmingly happy.

“AKAASHI!” Bokuto yelled, running towards him. Keiji opened his arms, laughing, and Bokuto lifted him high into his arms, spinning Keiji round and round as hysterics bubbled from his chest. Their sweaty skin stuck to eachother and they desperately needed to shower, but as Bokuto laughed into his neck and Keiji tightened his legs around Bokuto’s waist he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over 50k!!!! boy that is a lot of words huh
> 
> (kazumi is my favourite character to write. i hope you guys love him as much as i do)


	16. raspberry kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know things that you don't know  
> all my thoughts i'll never show  
> not because i'm unprepared  
> not because i'm somewhat scared  
> just because i love you  
> just because i love you
> 
> -just because, lizzy mcalpine

“Okay, just make sure to back out slowly. _Slowly, Keiji.”_

It was his first time driving since the incident, and a day after coming home from nationals.

They had gotten _so close._ Semi-finals. Keiji couldn’t help but be upset with the knowledge that the third years would leave without a single win at nationals, even after they had come so close two years in a row. He couldn’t help but think it was his fault.

He would bring them to nationals next year. He was sure of it.

It had taken quite some convincing from Kazumi for Keiji to get back in the car after last time.

_“We won’t go on country lanes again. And I’ll be watching closely the whole time. I’m right here, Keiji. I won’t let anything go wrong. Just tell me if you feel like something’s wrong.”_

“Okay, take a left here,” Kazumi guided. “ _Mirrors,_ Keiji. Don’t forget to check your mirrors.”

He checked the left and centre mirror before slowing and turning, pressing up and back down on the gas to gain them some speed. As promised there were no country lanes in sight; instead they were driving around behind an old and derelict train station. The only threat to Keiji currently were grandmas and their ancient dogs.

“I think we should move on to roundabouts.”

“No,” Keiji said. “I don’t want to.”

“Roundabouts are a part of life and driving, Keiji. You can’t avoid them forever.”

“I quite enjoy this derelict train station, thank you.”

“You’ll just drive around here forever, then?”

“Yes.”

“Not in my car you won’t. Turn right.”

Keiji did, albeit reluctantly. Stubbornly.

They did roundabouts for half an hour before Keiji got frustrated enough to call it quits. Kazumi had them pull into an gas station for a break at the two hour mark.

“I don’t know about you but I need to piss,” Kazumi said, before leaving the car to head towards the toilets beside the small store. He ducked his head back in through the window. “Want anything?”

“Could I get a water?”

“Sure, you got money?” At Keiji’s blank face he broke out in a grin. “Nah I’m joking. Can you grab my wallet? It’s in the backseat.”

Keiji turned and reached over to grab Kazumi’s bag from the floor in the backseat. He couldn’t see so low so he relied more on touch alone, fumbling around for it for a second before pulling his hand back when he felt something… odd.

_Feathers?_

He was tempted to keep feeling around for whatever was stashed under the seat when his hand collided with the fabric of Kazumi’s bag. Instead he pulled on it and handed it over.

“Won’t be long,” Kazumi chimed and jogged off. Keiji kept his eyes trained on his shape. As soon as it ducked around the corner Keiji undid his seatbelt and climbed over the centre-console into the backseat.

Curious, he shoved his hand back under the seat to find whatever he had touched earlier. He thought it was feathers at his first fleeting touch, but now that he could see the item in question and feel a bit better he could tell it was fur. _Real_ fur, not the fake kind, and cream in colour.

It looked like a blanket, or a coat maybe, but it wasn’t like anything Kazumi would ever wear. It looked to be meticulously folded and Keiji was unsure he could repeat it if he tugged it out.

He wanted to investigate further but distantly heard the bell above the door chime and worried it was Kazumi returning, so clambered back into the front driving seat. It wasn’t Kazumi, but Keiji’s heart was beating too fast for him to get into the backseat again.

Kazumi returned five minutes later, opening the passenger door and throwing a bottle of water into Keiji’s lap, opening his own Sprite, the cap hissing as he turned it.

“God I hate queuing. Why don’t they just get _more_ toilets? Or make them all gender neutral?” He took a swig of the drink, sighed. “I mean they’re single-person lockable toilets- why are they gendered?”

“Yeah.”

Kazumi side eyed him. “You good? Sorry, I should have asked earlier. Maybe two hours of driving was too much.”

“No, I’m fine. Sorry. Am I turning left here?”

“Yeah. You know the way home from here right?”

“I think so.”

“That’s alright, I’ll stick the sat-nav on just in case. It’ll be good practice.”

Kazumi reached over into the back where Keiji had been just a moment before and pulled a sat-nav out of seemingly thin air. He stuck it on above the centre console and punched in their address, and the device repeated it monotonously before flashing the route home.

“Keiji,” Kazumi started as they began driving down a particularly empty road. He was vaguely sure he recognised it but couldn’t be certain. Either way he was glad for the sat-nav’s instruction to turn right. “I’m going to say something that might upset you, and might stress you out a little bit.”

“What?” His eyed flickered to Kazumi and back to the road.

Keiji tried to act cool and as if those words alone hadn’t agitated every fibre of his being. Why do people say things like that? Why can’t they just _say it?_ And then he wouldn’t have to stress out about all the things they could possibly say.

“I just- I want you to stay calm. That’s why I’m telling you now, while you’re driving. Because you can’t stress out because you’re thinking about _driving_ , see. There’s a reason behind this, I thought it through.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I know about you and Bokuto. That you’re dating.”

Keiji could as well have crashed the car. It didn’t matter that he had schooled his face perfectly neutral because he knew his hands were white-knuckled on the wheel. Although he was driving up an empty, quiet road he felt as though he was going 90 down a highway, adrenaline and fear spiking.

“What?”

“I know. And I just wanted to let _you_ know that _I_ know. And that it’s okay! It’s not a big deal.”

Keiji knew logically that Kazumi would find out sooner rather than later, and that he had probably put the pieces together ages ago. Even if he hadn’t the probability that he would have overheard his parents discussing it at length was high.

But it still managed to make him sad in a way that was impossible to articulate. The freedom and his ability to tell people this deeply important thing about himself had been taken out of his hands without permission. It had been snatched from his shaking and uncertain fingers before he himself was ready to know, let alone any other person in his life. Whether they reacted positively or negatively didn’t change the fact that they knew something he wasn’t ready for someone to know about.

And he also found that he had grown to like his and Bokuto’s quiet intimacy. Something about the stolen glances they’d share in a busy room or the feigned casual touches, or the whispered words or constant proximity and the constant bouts of phonecalls felt as though this was something for them alone. Nothing about their life was ever performative, which is something they both so often had to be.

His family were the last people he wanted to know.

“It _is_ a big deal,” Keiji said finally, quietly.

“What?”

“You said it’s not a big deal.” His words were firm. It was the only way he could keep the emotion from flooding out of him. “It’s a big deal to me.”

“I just meant it doesn’t have to be. Keiji, you like who you like, and if you like guys then you like guys and there’s no helping it. We don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

“How did you know?”

“About you?”

“About me and him. Did mom tell you?”

Maybe the real issue Keiji had was the idea that people could tell such a huge thing about him just by looking at him. No matter how hard he tried to hide things they eventually all come tumbling out. Everybody knew about his O.C.D. once and that was all he was- the O.C.D boy. He didn’t want that to happen again. It shouldn’t be such a big worry but it _was_. It was all encompassing.

“Mom? No, it’s- do you see how he looks at you, sometimes?”

Keiji didn’t answer; he thought the question was stupid. Kazumi flicked his eyes to Keiji and continued anyway.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever been in love before Keiji but I have, and when you’re in love it’s like nothing even matters anymore except that person. I knew from that first day I took you both to school. Bokuto looks at you like he could never get enough of you. And he sticks up for you, and he practically lives at our house, Keiji, I can’t even remember the last time you had someone over before him. And the way he hugged you after that nationals game, _god_ , it was like something out of a film.”

“Am I that obvious?”

He must have sensed the upset tone in Keiji’s voice because he faltered. “No, Keiji, it’s not- it’s because I know you, and I know how high you build those walls around you and you’ve let him in. It must be so nice to just be able to _look_ at someone and tell how irrevocably in love they are with you. Most people don’t get that, Keiji.”

His heart fluttered in his chest. _In love?_

Keiji stumbled over his words. “Please don’t tell anyone, Kazumi.”

“Of course I won’t. Oh my gosh, I wouldn’t ever. Hey, Keiji, hey.”

Keiji finally flitted his eyes to see Kazumi. His hand moved to Keiji’s arm. The big brown eyes were a perfect mirror of his own.

“Hey,” Kazumi said. “Hey, I love you. You know that, right? I love you so much. I should have told you that sooner. I need to tell you _more_.”

His hand squeezed Keiji’s arm. Keiji’s voice was thick when he allowed himself to admit it.

“I love you too.”

—

When Bokuto stretched Keiji could see the smallest sliver of his stomach. _Surely_ Bokuto knew what that did to him by now.

Keiji was trying very hard to concentrate on his book, which was proving more and more difficult as Bokuto shifted around restlessly at the end of his bed. Keiji could do this. He _would_ get his classwork done.

Bokuto was a distraction, but a welcome one. It wasn’t like Keiji would be able to stop thinking about him if he _wasn’t_ here: he would be distracted regardless.

Then he felt a feather light kiss on his ankle. His gut instinct was to snatch it away, back and close to his chest.

“Keijiiiii,” Bokuto whined, rolling over.

Keiji gripped his leg. He looked down at where Bokuto was sprawled. “What was that?”

“What?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss my ankle.”

“I just wanted to.”

Bokuto looked up at him with round, golden eyes. Sunlight streamed in through Keiji’s half-opened blinds and made Bokuto softer and more orange than normal. Keiji gently moved his leg back down.

It took a second but then Bokuto’s lips were back, light as air as he peppered tiny kisses around Keiji’s ankle. They began to trail up his calf, which Bokuto cradled in his hand like a newborn baby. He spent an extra long time kissing her the swell of Keiji’s knee. Then he pushed himself up on his hands and moved so he was covering Keiji’s body with his own.

“Hello,” Bokuto said.

“Hi,” Keiji responded, dropping his book to the side, wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s neck and pulling him into a deep kiss. The bed was plush beneath him as Bokuto gently pushed him further into the mattress.

It was ridiculous how desperately he longed to be _closer._ Bokuto’s mouth was warm as they kissed, his tongue prodding Keiji’s bottom lip tentatively and a languid moan escaped when they opened. Keiji swallowed the noise greedily.

He couldn’t decide where he wanted his hands to be: he liked them tugging at Bokuto’s hair (and he liked the noise Bokuto made when he did that) but he also liked them on Bokuto’s back where he could feel the muscles flexing as he held himself above Keiji, or crossed behind Bokuto’s head to keep him where he wants him.

It was getting too hot. Heat clawed its way through his stomach and caused his hands to tremble on Bokuto’s back.

“ _Ah_ ,” Bokuto gasped as Keiji gently bit down on his bottom lip. Their eyes blinked open for a moment and Keiji could see how blown-wide Bokuto’s were. The gold was barely visible, now covered almost entirely by inky black pupil. Keiji wondered if he looked as flustered as he felt. He hooked an ankle behind Bokuto’s legs in an attempt to pull Bokuto closer. He complied and they were kissing again.

Bokuto moved to straddle Keiji’s waist and the tightening of his thighs filled Keiji with lust. He could feel himself growing hard against Bokuto’s thigh, and from the widening expression on Bokuto’s face he could feel Keiji too.

“Sorry,” Keiji said quickly. It was mortifying. He couldn’t imagine it would last long, though, because all his blood was now rushing to his face. “I didn’t, uh, mean for that.”

“No, it’s okay!” Bokuto reassured. It was then that Keiji realised how flushed he was, too, smiling self-consciously. “Me, uh. Me too.”

Keiji couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting downwards, but he knew Bokuto had seen. Bokuto was irrefutably hard, too. Keiji bit his lips to stop a moan but his hips bucked out of his control, causing Bokuto to moan instead. Keiji wanted to feel the sound against his neck.

“This is so embarrassing,” Keiji said out loud. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He tried to sit up, though he clearly hadn’t thought out the logic of this as it shifted Bokuto’s weight into his lap, right on to his dick. He let out a breathy noise.

“It is,” Bokuto agreed. He looked as flustered as Keiji felt. His hands gently carded through Keiji’s hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “But I trust you. And it… it feels good, right?”

He looked humiliated asking. Keiji nodded.

“I trust you, too.”

“Alright then, uh, just… lay back.”

Keiji did as he was asked, moving so he was back to laying down and Bokuto was once again straddled above him. It didn’t take long for them to be clutching one another again, kissing as though they were starving of breath and the only oxygen left existed in the others mouth.

There was movement at his waist and then a glimpse of warmth at his stomach and he realised Bokuto had put his hand up Keiji’s shirt, stroking his abdominal muscles as though he was committing them to memory. He arched into the touch, needy, their mouths still barely connected.

Then Bokuto sat back on his heels and reached over his own head for the back of his shirt. Keiji watched in visible need as the material lifted up to reveal the tan and supple skin, the small pouch of stomach he still had despite being an athlete and the soft V of his hips. Keiji had seen him shirtless before, in the changing rooms, but this context presented Bokuto entirely differently.

He dropped the shirt on the floor by the bed. He moved his arms in front of himself slightly, as though he was self-conscious, so Keiji reached up to pull him back down into a kiss. Bokuto’s hands returned to prod under Keiji’s shirt, shucking it upwards inch by inch until Keiji could feel the cold draught from his window.

“Can I take your shirt off?” Bokuto asked, and Keiji was going to answer _yes please oh my god_ when he was suddenly hit with a wave of nerves.

Was he ready to do this?

They would be shirtless… and then what?

His mind raced uncontrollably. He was unsure and he didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to do this anymore.

But it was Bokuto. He couldn’t say no to Bokuto. He took a moment to answer, shakily. “Okay.”

Bokuto pulled back from him completely, looking at him with a confused expression which contrasted his current state of dishevel. His hair was in three directions from Keiji’s hands. His lips were kiss-bruised.

And then Bokuto was leaning back down, pushing Keiji’s shirt up to reveal his abdomen, but he stopped before he could pull it over Keiji’s shoulders. Keiji was about to ask why when Bokuto pressed his lips to the jut of Keiji’s ribs. A moan almost pulled its way from Keiji’s lips, but he stopped it before it could come out as anything more than shaky breathing.

Bokuto kissed again, and again, a straight line downwards from the dip between his ribs to the soft flesh of his belly. He had kissed just above Keiji’s bellybutton when Keiji almost stopped him, when uncertainty had begun to blossom in the pit of his stomach once again, but that’s when Bokuto stopped moving. He held his head there for a second, warm breath over Keiji’s stomach.

Keiji saw Bokuto’s eyes glimpse up to his own but didn’t have enough time to process the grin plastered on Bokuto’s face before he could stop him.

Bokuto pressed his lips together, toothily smiling, just above Keiji’s stomach and blew _hard,_ a loud noise emanating and causing Keiji’s sensitive stomach to convulse, a loud laugh immediately tearing its way out of his throat. He instinctively kicked out his legs, not realising they were still tight in Bokuto’s grasp.

“Bokuto, _no,_ you can’t! BOKUTO!” Keiji yelled in between fits of giggles.

Bokuto kept his lips on Keiji’s stomach, blowing raspberry after raspberry into the delicate skin, causing Keiji to kick and thrash and laugh hysterically as he desperately tried to push Bokuto off.

He was usually so calm and emotionless that the pure contrast between this hysterical-laughing and frantically squirming Keiji made Bokuto’s face light up in glee.

He blew another one and an uncontrollable laugh escaped his lips again. Desperate he pushed at Bokuto’s head, twisting his body off the bed and almost falling to the floor to try and get away from Bokuto, who was leaning up with a grin.

“Keiji you’re so ticklish!”

“BOKUTO-” was all he could manage before another one came and Keiji desperate flung his body away from the bed. He couldn’t _breathe_ through the howling laughter. He reached for the floorboards and _almost made it_ before Bokuto roughly pulled his body back onto the bed.

This time though Bokuto was on top of him, resting their foreheads together as he grinned wider than Keiji had ever seen. Keiji was breathless. Giggles still escaped into the air between them.

“I hate you,” he said, but he was smiling so wide there’s no way Bokuto would have ever believed him.

“You don’t _look_ like you hate me.”

“You _know_ I’m ticklish!”

“I know!” Bokuto pressed their noses together. They were both beaming, full of happy energy. “That’s why I did it!”

He couldn’t help but look into his boyfriends eyes in awe.

How did he always know the right thing to do, or the right thing to say?

Bokuto Koutarou was an enigma. He was the most brilliant person Keiji knew he would ever meet. Shirtless above him, doing whatever he could to make Keiji laugh, knowing something was wrong without Keiji even saying anything, knowing that mentioning it would make Keiji uncomfortable and changing the subject altogether. Keiji would give anything to see him smile like this forever.

“I love you.”

His eyes widened. Two spheres of liquid gold. Keiji said it again.

“I’m in love with you. I love you so much. I really, really do. I-”

“Stop!” Bokuto slapped a hand over Keiji’s mouth and Keiji’s eyes widened curiously. “Oh my gosh, Keiji, you’re going to kill me.”

Keiji pressed a kiss to the hand over his mouth. Bokuto pulled him into a hug, smiling into his neck.

“I love you too. I love you so much!”

He pressed a kiss below Keiji’s eye. “I love you.” One to Keiji’s cheek. “Love you.” One to his forehead.

Keiji said, “you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He head butted Bokuto’s shoulder and Bokuto pulled him into a hug, which they didn’t break for a long time.

—

Two nights had passed and Keiji lay beside Bokuto in Bokuto’s single bed. It was a tight squeeze as always, with his forehead resting between Bokuto’s shoulder-blades and arms pulling Bokuto’s back to his chest. They lay so close that Keiji could feel Bokuto’s every breath in and out as his chest expanded against his fingertips, could feel his hairs against the top of his head, the backs of his knees against the front of Keiji’s. There wasn’t a part of them that wasn’t touching. Keiji struggled to find sleep as the dim sounds of night comforted him. He had been laying listening to Bokuto breathe for what felt like hours, wide and wider awake.

Reluctantly he extracted his arms out from underneath Bokuto, who made a soft whining noise but quickly settled into the covers again, turning onto his stomach. His hands were curled into soft fists- they always were when he slept. Keiji checked his phone for the time- _03:19-_ before sliding out of the bed. He only wore shorts and a hoodie and his legs were cold out from the warmth of Bokuto’s body. He was desperate for a drink.

No matter how many times he had stayed over walking through someone else’s house without them was odd. Without Bokuto there to supervise him Keiji felt as though he was intruding, doing something he wasn’t meant to- like Bokuto’s mother could jump out from any corner and reprimand him for walking around without permission. The house was unnervingly quiet at night.

He got a glass out the cupboard and turned the tap on for cold water. Just above the sink was a small window looking out into the garden, where Keiji’s gaze was so focused on a small blackbird flying over their shed and the faint patter of rain that he didn’t notice when the water from the tap overflowed and started to trickle onto his hand.

“Shit,” he said when he blinked back into focus.

“Akaashi,” a voice echoed from somewhere behind him. “Everything alright?”

He almost spilled his drink again as he spun around to search out the source of the voice. Bokuto’s father was visible just through the doorway, descending the stairs one by one, dressing gown tied loosely around his waist. Reading glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he was struggling to find sleep the same way Keiji was.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji said instinctively and bowed. He left the glass on the side.

“ _Hiroki,”_ He corrected. “Can’t sleep either?”

“I was just getting a drink.”

“Would you grab me one too, please? Thank you.”

He grabbed a glass out for Hiroki and poured it much more carefully than the one for himself, bringing it to the table where he had now sat down. Keiji felt compelled to take a seat with him for some reason, so he took the one opposite. Sitting at the dining table with Bokuto’s father while they both wore pyjamas and their hair was mussed with sleep at three am was odd, though neither man pointed it out.

“How’s the driving going, Akaashi? It’s been a while since you started now. Bokuto tells me you’ve been doing well.”

“Bokuto hasn’t even seen my driving.”

“He’s got good instincts, though, that boy. He’s very rarely wrong about these things.”

Keiji nearly agreed with him. The idea of Bokuto talking to his parents about him made his ears grow warm. “It’s been going okay. I had to stop for a bit but I’m back at it now. I’m hoping to have my test in the next few months.”

“Why’d you stop? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Keiji averted his eyes, drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s not really anything in particular. More like a cumulation of things.”

“Cumulation,” Hiroki chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re clever, Akaashi. Don’t forget that for anything.”

What was that meant to mean? Was Bokuto’s father trying to tell him to drop volleyball the same way his mother implored him to, focus on his studies instead? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Thank you sir,” Keiji said instead.

“ _Great oaks from little acorns grow_ ,” Hiroki said sagely and took a drink. Keiji followed the movement with his gaze and pressed his thumbs into each other above the table.

“You speak in proverbs a lot.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. What does that one mean?”

Hiroki moved his finger along the rim of the glass. A high pitched noise emanated as he did it, and then he got up to take his glass to the sink. There was a quiet crashing sound as the tap turned on.

“Koutarou has told me that sometimes you and your parents don’t get along. It’s none of my business, of course, but Akaashi- there will always be people on your side. Our house is always open when you need it, _if_ you need it. I expect you will become something that will outgrow us all. I don’t know if anybody’s ever told you that.”

Keiji’s heart was still. Something about the serenity of the kitchen at night and it’s permanent warmth and the calm with which Hiroki spoke made Keiji feel safe, as though Hiroki held Keiji’s delicate heart in his two cradled palms. His wide back looked like Bokuto’s as he scrubbed the glass clean.

“I don’t want to outgrow this.”

“‘ _Be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some achieve greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them.’”_

“Twelfth night,” Keiji identified.

Hiroki finished the washing and placed his glass back into the cupboard above the sink. There was a second before he turned around where Keiji imagined his father here instead, discussing literature and potential with him at three in the morning. It made him realise that he hadn’t seen his father in days.

He could hear the smile in Hiroki’s voice. “Koutarou would follow you, you know. Wherever you go.”

“No he wouldn’t.”

Hiroki smiled softly. There was moonlight bouncing in the wiry grey hair on his head. Background static softened his words.

“You don’t see how happy you make him. Every room lights up for him just because you’re in it.”

Keiji didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what was too much.

“Akaashi, I know you wouldn’t hurt my son. This isn’t what I’m trying to say. I just want you to know that he isn’t going to hurt you either. He will always be on your side, and we will aways be here too, if you need us.”

Hiroki laughed softly as Keiji clenched his jaw tight. If he didn’t then confessions would come tumbling out. Intently, he focused on Hiroki’s face. He had always thought that Hiroki’s eyes were brown but he could now see they were the same gold as Bokuto’s.

“Anyways, it’s late,” Hiroki said at last.

“I should get to bed,” Keiji followed. He moved to the sink to refill his glass and headed toward the stairs, desperate to escape from the kitchen and facing Bokuto’s father, but something in his gut wouldn’t let him move further than the bottom step. He clenched his palms into fists and stood in the Bokuto’s hallway. He turned around.

“Hiroki-” his cheeks flamed red when Hiroki looked up at him, curious. It took every ounce of love he had found for himself to root his feet to the floor, to stop him from fleeing up the stairs.

“Yes, Akaashi?”

“Can I-” he cut himself off. He steeled himself to continue. If he focused hard enough he could will away the tremble in his fingers. “Could I have a hug? I understand if it’s inappropriate, but things have been _so hard recently-”_

“Of course. Hey, Akaashi, of course. _Hey.”_

Hiroki’s arms moved to pull Keiji to his chest, engulfing him in warmth, pinning him to this spot just below the stairs in a house that wasn’t his own. But Hiroki didn’t smell like the person Keiji wished was hugging him: Hiroki wasn’t as tall and he was slightly older too, and he was wearing pyjamas instead of that always-white, always-crinkled shirt. Keiji clutched onto Hiroki’s back tightly and felt the sobs clawing at his throat for the first time since his family had found out about him and Bokuto.

“It’s okay, Akaashi. We’re here for you,” Hiroki whispered, and Keiji let himself imagine it was _his_ father hugging him instead of someone else’s. He would give anything for it now- for his father to hold him the way he did when Keiji was seven, before anything ever went wrong.

He wanted it so badly his fingers trembled. He wanted it so badly his lungs heaved with his cries. He would have given anything to be home with his family in this moment, for _them_ to be comforting him instead of a man he had spoken to only a handful of times.

Bokuto’s father pressed a kiss to the top of his hair. Keiji pretended his own family loved him.

“Akaashi, it’s okay. Son, it’s okay. Let it out.”

Hiroki brushed his fingers through his hair as he wailed.

 _Nothing could hurt as much as this,_ Keiji thought. _Being unloved by the only people who are always meant to be on your side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)) a big long chapter this time !! we are slowly drawing near to the end of this book!! We are about 2/3 way through!!
> 
> I hope everyones enjoying :)) updates are a bit rough just because of uni but i am not on hiatus !! there definitely will still be updates :)) please talk to me in the comments or on my social medias i literally love bokuaka and all of u so much


	17. five less steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's the problem i don't know  
> well maybe i'm in love  
> i think about it every time  
> i think about it  
> can't stop thinking 'bout it
> 
> -accidentally in love, counting crows

“Your hands are bigger than mine,” Bokuto pointed out, taking the moment to lace their fingers with each other and pull Keiji closer to him on the bed.

“It’s just my fingers, they’re longer. Your hands wider.”

“Mmm, I guess so!” Bokuto smiled. He squeezed them and moved to rest them on the pillow in-between their heads. “Volleyball hands.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call them _volleyball hands_ before.”

“Well what would _you_ call them, then?”

“People tell me I’ve got pianist hands.” As if to demonstrate Keiji flexed his fingers out between Bokuto’s knuckles. His were long and knobbly where Bokuto’s were shorter and strong. “Because they’re long.”

“And what have I got?”

“I don’t know.” Keiji pulled their hands towards his head. He wanted to kiss Bokuto’s knuckle. “Beautiful hands.”

“Beautiful _volleyball_ hands,” Bokuto corrected, though he was grinning. He didn’t pull away from his grip as Keiji kissed each of his knuckles in turn.

“You’re silly,” Keiji said.

“You love me,” Bokuto returned.

Keiji smiled. “I do.”

He dropped Bokuto’s hand a moment later but it didn’t stray far, instead reaching up to gently brush Keiji’s hair from his eyes. Bokuto’s phone was at the foot of the bed playing music, which filled the room when their words did not.

It was nice just laying here, existing with Bokuto. It was nice doing _anything_ with Bokuto. He would be devastated when Bokuto graduated.

“Do you think there’s anyone else like us?” He asked tracing over Keiji’s knuckles.

“Like _us?”_ Keiji asked. A wrinkle formed between his brow and Bokuto gently smoothed it away with his thumb.

“Yeah,” Bokuto blinked owlishly. “Two boys- or two girls! Who love each other. People who aren’t a boy and a girl who love each other.”

“Well, yeah. There are lots of people who are-” he couldn’t say the word out loud. _Gay._ “-in unconventional relationships.”

“People we know?”

Keiji hadn’t really thought about that. _Surely…_

“Maybe.”

“Who do you think?” Bokuto shuffled to pull the blanket under his chin. There was a mischievous glint in his eye which Keiji couldn’t help but smile at.

“This is very gossipy, Bokuto.”

“Come on, I wanna know!” Bokuto grinned. “It’s not like you’re actually telling me. Just guessing!”

“Okay,” Keiji relented, shuffling under the blanket too to mirror Bokuto’s pose. He thought about it for a second. “Oikawa. Maybe Iwaizumi too, in that case.”

“Oh my… you think they’re dating?”

Bokuto was overjoyed. Keiji shrugged. “Maybe.”

“That would make sense! They’re very close. And they go everywhere together! I ran into them both in the bathroom once. They were very nice, I think.”

“Oikawa is a very talented setter,” Keiji agreed.

“Who else do you think?”

Keiji had to consider for a moment. Not many people were popping into mind.

“There’s a boy in my math class that I think could be. I’m not sure, though. Just a gut feeling.”

“People in our school?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Konoha was to be honest.”

“Konoha?!” Bokuto giggled. It felt as though they were talking about something they weren’t supposed to. It was fun. “I don’t know about that.”

“Have you seen the way he throws himself over Sarakui?”

“But… Konoha would have told me! Surely…”

“Well, you didn’t tell _him,”_ Keiji reasoned. Bokuto stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

“Still. Who else?”

“Tsukishima. Probably.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Keiji thought. “Yeah, definitely.”

“I wish we knew more people like us.”

He paused at the earnestness in Bokuto’s voice. He laced their fingers together again.

“We will, soon. Nobody knows _we’re_ dating, remember?”

Except Keiji’s family, the last people he ever wanted knowing. In a way, though, that made it easier; there was nobody in the world he would be more afraid of rejection from. Now that they hated him he had very few people left to impress.

“Can we tell people soon?” Bokuto asked. His eyes were wide and vulnerable. Keiji trailed a finger around his ear. He bit his tongue. It was difficult to say the words.

“I don’t know if we should.”

“Why not?” Bokuto asked, and then quickly added. “We don’t have to! Not until you want to. I was just wondering the reason.”

Keiji’s mouth was dry. It was always hard to be vulnerable, even around Bokuto. He paused. He couldn’t say it when Bokuto was looking so deeply into his eyes, so he shifted to lay on his back instead. Bokuto laced their fingers again to keep contact.

“I’m worried it will affect your career. Being with me.”

“What do you mean?”

Keiji didn’t respond for a while. He needed to find his words.

“You want to be a professional athlete, and that’s already a competitive field as is. And sports is watched by big, burly men who love feeling strong and masculine and like to watch competitive sports where everyone is against each other.” Keiji gnawed on his lip. Bokuto was looking at him with wide, trusting eyes. Keiji wasn’t sure if he had thought about this before, and being the one to tell him hurt. “I don’t know how kindly audiences would take to knowing you were in a relationship with a man. Even if it was just a high school thing. If anyone found out it could jeopardise your entire future. You’ve just received your scholarship and I would hate so much to think that it’s _my_ fault that it doesn’t work out, _if_ it doesn’t work out.”

He realised he was rambling and cut himself off abruptly. Bokuto didn’t stop looking at him.

“You think we’re just a high school thing?”

“No! Not at all! I just…” Keiji was getting flustered. Bokuto gripped his hands tighter under the blanket. “I don’t want to ruin your life with this.”

Bokuto creased his eyebrows in thought.

“Keiji, I think you’re overthinking this.”

Keiji’s instinct was to be defensive, but when he opened his mouth to retaliate he just sighed instead. “Probably.”

“I know who I am,” Bokuto said quietly, and with a sad smile. “And I _like_ who I am. And I like you, too, a whole bunch. I don’t mind if it’s just us who knows it or the entire world, but this is something I want to keep.”

Bokuto sounded so confident saying it. _I know who I am, and I like who I am._

 _Do I like who I am?_ Keiji wondered. _Do I even know who I am?_

“We don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready for them to know,” Bokuto reassured. “But I’m ready whenever you are. I’ve always been ready.”

“I know,” Keiji shut his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry!” Bokuto interjected. He pressed his lips wetly to Keiji’s cheek. “I love you a whole lot.”

“I love you too.”

“Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not!”

“Smile then!”

Bokuto rolled on top of Keiji, straddling his waist and pressing their foreheads close.

“I can’t just smile because you told me to smile. That’s not how smiles work.”

Bokuto pressed a kiss to his lips, one to his chin and one to the tip of his nose. The corners of Keiji’s mouth tilted upwards.

“See! That’s better!”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me,” Bokuto reminded him.

“I do.”

—

Now that school was beginning to die down and exam season was passing, Bokuto started to take up more shifts at the garden centre.

“You can come and visit me,” Bokuto suggested, pouting. “It’s not like I’m ever doing anything important. Just putting stickers on things, or scanning things, or talking to old ladies! That last one is kinda fun, actually.”

“I probably shouldn’t,” Keiji reasoned. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“It would be worth it,” he said and snuggled further into Keiji’s neck.

That was how Keiji found himself alone in his house that Thursday after school; he had spent more time at Bokuto’s house than his own recently, and even when he was here it wasn’t like he ever ran into his parents. Sometimes he would see Kazumi in the sitting room or walking past him in the hallway but Keiji never tried to prolong conversation.

It was how he found himself toying with his hands as he walked around the empty house.

“Hello?” He had shouted as he slipped his shoes off in the doorway, just to check nobody was actually home. And then he shouted again, just to be sure. And two more times, because he liked to do things in fours.

He imagined he was looking at this house for the first time, as if he hadn’t lived in it his whole life and was intimately connected to the creaky floorboards and pristine paint-job. It was a nice house, objectively. It was big and let in a lot of light. You could tell it was expensive, too; a classy blend of both modern and traditional features, with old archways connecting the kitchen and the hallway, but sleek white tile and marble countertops. It wasn’t a house that had been hastily cobbled together but one with meticulous planning with the input of various professionals. It reeked of money and cleanliness. If there were any word to describe the Akaashi’s meticulous would be it.

As he walked between the rooms he let his finger drag along the walls, over the mantle of their unused fireplace and their glass coffee table. The only thing that seemed out of place in their perfectly planned home was the dust it collected. Though they could afford cleaners if they wanted Keiji knew his parents didn’t care enough to. The only person who spent any time in their living room was Kazumi, and it was only to stay rooted to the sofa while he watched film reruns. Keiji seemed to be the only one in the family whose presence struggled to fill a room.

When he was a child he loved this home. What more could a child want than everything? But now he despised it. He wished it was smaller. He wished there were five less steps on the stairs so he could bring himself to ever come down them. He wished the paint on the walls was peeling slightly so that the house didn’t look completely abandoned. He wished his parents put his drawings up.

He played with the idea of pushing open the door to his mother's study. Then he did it. He had no reason to impress her anymore.

It was organised in here too, even though she seemed to spend all of her living hours outside of work in here. When Keiji flicked the overhead light on it was blinding. There were no windows in here so it would have to be.

He flicked through a stack of papers on the edge of her desk titled _Fuji Watanabe: case notes._ Opening past the first page he could see his mother's loopy handwriting describing the case- a theft. Mr Watanabe had stolen several thousands worth of his wife’s possessions and fled. Evidently he had been caught.

Nothing else in the room was of interest to Keiji because he didn’t understand it. There wasn’t even a photo of the family on the desk. This could be anybody’s office and he would never know the difference.

He intended on walking the rest of the way up to his room but noticed as he walked up the hall that Kazumi’s door had been left open slightly. His gut thought was that Kazumi _was_ home. Perhaps he had just had his music on too loud and hadn’t heard Keiji. However from peering through the open slit Keiji could see the room was completely empty. The lights were off, too, which Kazumi usually forgot to do, though his door hadn’t been closed completely. Wherever Kazumi had gone, he must have left in a rush.

Curiosity got the better of him and he pressed his fingertips to the handle, leaving them there on the cool metal before deciding to open it the rest of the way.

Once Keiji flicked the light on the room looked exactly the same as it did every evening when he came to check the windows. Kazumi’s room looked more of a teenage boy bedroom than Keiji’s did. There were band posters framed on the wall, a guitar propped against a chest of drawers which were leaking clothes through the crevices, a bed which was more unmade than not. It had personality. As Keiji kicked through the strewn clothes on the floor his foot collided with a pack of sorts, and a handful of cigarettes fell out. Keiji didn’t know Kazumi smoked.

There was a small desk pressed below the windows, much less organised than his mothers, and Keiji tentatively made his way towards it. There were papers strewn all across the top, peeking out of the drawers down the side where they had hastily been shoved. Kazumi’s closed laptop sat amidst the chaos.

Reading the papers would be too much an invasion of privacy but Keiji allowed himself to look them over. He assumed it would mostly be work for the law firm he was apprenticing at, and he was mostly right. They looked to be notes on court cases and pieces of documentation; nothing Keiji would have wanted to read. But then something caught his eye as he brushed his fingers along the papers.

It was an official-looking letter with a giant red stamp on the front, labelled _urgent._ Keiji could have passed that off; it could logically have been _anything._ Except the name Keiji could make out wasn’t Kazumi’s.

The name was Arisu Matsui. Kazumi’s girlfriend.

Why did he have a letter with her name on?

He could have ignored it, but why would it be here, in Keiji’s home? This wasn’t Kazumi _or_ Arisu’s home address. It had clearly been opened because there was no longer an address written on the front, but that meant Kazumi would have had to bring the letter with him. Or had it sent to the Akaashi’s house.

Keiji was about to pry it open and see for himself when he heard the door downstairs open. He dropped the letter back on the desk and shut the door behind him, heart racing a million miles a second.

—

“Yuna got hurt at school today. I think someone pushed her, I’m not sure. She’s really upset.”

“It doesn’t seem like her to not hit back,” Keiji replied, pulling the phone. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah she’s okay! She scraped her knee, though, but I kissed it all better.”

“Ah, well your kisses _are_ magical,” Keiji smiled. “Did you bandage it too, though?”

“Yep, with my hello kitty plasters!”

“As long as she’s alright. Was it reported to the school?”

“Yeah, my mom told her teacher but I don’t think it was, like, vicious. I think it was just an accident. Kids are just like that sometimes.”

“ _I_ wasn’t like that.”

“I was!” Bokuto exclaimed, and Keiji could imagine him pressing his thumb to his chest with pride on the other end of the call. “I was so rowdy. I never _meant_ to hurt people. It was just part of our games!”

“I could imagine that.” Keiji smiled. “Yuna reminds me of you.”

“She does?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“You’re both very headstrong, and friendly and energetic. You’re like if golden retrievers were people.”

“Really?” Bokuto sounded happy by that comment.

“Yeah.”

“That makes me happy, that you think Yuna is like me. It reminds me of Shinjiro.”

“Your brother?” Keiji asked, tentative. Bokuto hadn’t mentioned Shinjiro since that one night he had walked to Keiji’s house in the rain.

“Yeah. He was a lot like me, too. I was so sad when he passed because it was like I lost my best friend.” He could hear the sad smile in Bokuto’s voice. “It was about the time Yuna was born, too. I know its silly but I like to think he’s with her.”

“That’s not silly,” Keiji said quickly. “I wish I got to meet him.”

“He would have loved you. We probably would have fought over you.”

“He sounds great,” Keiji smiled. “I would have chosen you though.”

“That’s two nice things you’ve said about me now! Someone’s in a sappy mood.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be nice to my boyfriend?”

“Oh my gosh, Keiji!”

“I just miss you.”

“It’s only been two days!” Bokuto laughed, but then Keiji heard his voice quieten. “I miss you too. So much! You should come visit me at work.”

“We’ve had this conversation.”

“I know, I know,” Bokuto sounded sad but Keiji knew it was just him being pouty, and he sprung up a second later. “That reminds me- I made something for you!”

Keiji was taken aback. “You did? What is it?”

“You have to promise not to laugh.”

“I won’t laugh,” he said immediately. He was too excited at the prospect to risk not getting it.

“Okay, hang on a second.” There were sounds of fumbling across the phone line, vaguely of the clicking of a keyboard. When Bokuto spoke again he sounded distant. “Okay, it should have come through.”

Keiji’s phone _pinged_ by his ear. He pulled it away when he saw a message from Bokuto had come through at the top of the screen.

He opened the text. It was just one message- a hyperlink. Keiji clicked it.

“I hope you like it,” Bokuto said as the page loaded.

When he saw it his heart surged. Nobody had ever done something like this for him before.

 _For Keiji <3 _the playlist was titled, a picture of him and Bokuto smiling at the top, and a list of songs just below it.

“Koutarou…” his voice trailed off. He was worried about how much emotion seeped through that one word. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know! I wanted to. I have to walk places a lot, so I have to _think_ a lot and usually I just listen to music and think about you, so these are just a bunch of songs that make me think about you! I don’t know if you’ll like them or not but… yeah. I just wanted you to have them!”

Keiji thumbed through the playlist, switching his phone onto speaker mode so he could still hear Bokuto if he said something.

None of the songs were anything like what Keiji would ever normally listen to. He liked soft songs, ones he could fall asleep on, with gentle guitar and quiet vocals. _Can You Feel the Love Tonight from Lion King, Lovebug by the Jonas Brothers, Accidentally in Love from Shrek._ The songs were undeniably Bokuto.

“I love it,” he said. “I need to listen to it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I’m going to go listen to it now.”

“Now?”

“Now. Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you.”

He hung the phone up in awe. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the title, _For Keiji <3, _and he couldn’t bite the smile off his face. He took a second to just stare, comforted by the blankets on his bed that Bokuto could warm even over the phone, and then got up to pull his headphones out from his drawer. Usually he chose to use his sleek overhead headphones, but he couldn’t find them rifling through his bedside drawers. He opted instead to just use the small earphones he used when taking the bus. They didn’t play the sound as nicely but seemed much more intimate.

The first song played and, predictably, was a loud pop song. Keiji couldn’t help but cover his face with his hands in glee. It was followed by a one direction song. Keiji let them all play into eachother, bleeding song lyrics and emotions into his heart. He imagined Bokuto sitting at home and picking which order the songs would go in.

_Why can't I leave it unsaid?_

_You know I talk too much_

_Honey, come put your lips on mine and shut me up_

He grinned into his palms. All the songs felt so much like Bokuto. He opened up his text messages.

**_From: AKAASHI <3 <3 <3_ **

_You are my favourite person in the entire world_

**_From: AKAASHI <3 <3 <3_ **

_I love this so so much_

The next song started. _Honey lets get married._ Keiji couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. He stretched his arms high up towards the ceiling for no reason other than he _could._

**_From: Bokuto <3_ **

_i love you so so so so so so SO SOS O MUch <33 :)) xx_

**_From: Bokuto <3_ **

_ill see u at school 2morrow !!! sleep, sillykaashi !!! xxxxxxxxx_

A slower, sadder song started playing. Keiji clutched the phone to his chest. He wanted to bundle Bokuto in his arms forever.He set an alarm on his phone for tomorrow for school, cautious of the fact that his eyelids were growing heavy, and when he eventually fell asleep it was to a love song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update because today is Akaashi's birthday !! I couldn't not post on the birthday of this storys protagonist. A happy update too :)
> 
> [ Bokuto's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3M6XCeJmaVV74kEN8aowtg?si=pxW3niFvRDWYQWi-Om2A5A)


	18. a billion flowers, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the king of love, my shepherd is  
> whose goodness failith never  
> i nothing lack if i am his  
> and he is mine forever  
> perverse and foolish, oft i strayed  
> but yet in love he sought me  
> and on his shoulder gently laid  
> and home, rejoicing, bought me
> 
> -known and loved, joel ansett (hidden track)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> •homphobia  
> •f slur  
> •bad coping mechanisms

Bokuto had stopped by his house after work.

 _I got something 4 u !!! ^_^_ he had text him just after his shift had ended. _ill be at ur house in 20mins xxxxx_

Keiji’s mother was home, which usually would have warranted Keiji texting back _actually, could we meet at yours? x,_ but she had seemingly quarantined herself in her office, and Bokuto was made aware of the risks of visiting Keiji’s house after his mother had made him cry in the bathroom. It never stopped him from wanting to come. The only rule Keiji had established was for Bokuto to phone him instead of ringing the doorbell. He wanted to keep Bokuto and his mother from interacting as much as possible.

He busied himself with work in the meantime. Exams were long past but he still felt the burning desire to study. It was ingrained so deeply into his routine and his bones at this point that he felt it might hurt more to _stop_ studying than to keep going. He could always be better; he could always work harder.

Sometimes, when he was younger, Keiji thought that if he studied hard enough it would outweigh everything else. He had always struggled with emotions and showing outwardly what he felt inward, and he was never the best in any lineup for his looks, or his sportsmanship, or seemingly anything else. His disorder was only the tip of the iceberg in why Keiji was the less-than-ideal child. Kazumi had always been good at music and making people smile, charismatic in all the ways Keiji was not. Kazumi was always the pinnacle of everything Keiji had desperately wanted to be. He had thought that maybe if he tried hard enough, studied so much that the skin on his fingers peeled and fatigue settled in his gut then maybe that could be _his_ thing- the thing that compensated for all his faults and shortcomings. He could be Keiji the prodigy. Keiji the genius- the perfect, obedient child. Perfect in all the ways except in the ones he was not.

Now he realised it was stupid. _He_ didn’t care about whether he was smart or not; he cared about whether it would make his parents look at him the way they looked at Kazumi, which was admittedly not the way most parents looked at their children but at least better than the way they looked at Keiji. Or failed to look at him.

He wondered how much of his personality was centred around the way he was brought up. He had his mothers introspection and his fathers clinical distance; if he were raised in Bokuto’s house would he still have these characteristics? Or would he be bright and happy like Bokuto? What would the Keiji who grew up in a healthy, stable household look like?

What would Bokuto be like if he grew up _here_ instead?

As if summoned by the thought in his mind he received a text from Bokuto.

**_From: Bokuto <3_ **

_im here !! :DD xx_

Keiji pushed himself off of his desk chair quicker than he would ever admit to. He went down the stairs two at a time, running his hands along the bannister for balance as he did, until he had crossed the expansive length of the house to the door.

“Hello,” Keiji greeted, pulling the door open to reveal a smiling, tired Bokuto still in his work uniform. “Oh.”

“It’s for you!” Bokuto grinned. He unclenched his fist around the giant sunflower and placed it in Keiji’s, gently prying his fingers apart. “I was going to get you a bouquet but I thought they looked a bit girly. So I got this instead! It reminded me of you.”

“A sunflower?”

“Yeah. Your room looks a bit sad so I thought I’d get something to brighten it up. And flowers are nice. You look like you like flowers.” Bokuto smiled, but then quickly clasped his hands over his mouth. “Oh that sounded really mean, about your room. I didn’t mean it in a bad way-”

“I love it.” Keiji clutched it tighter to his chest. Bokuto looked nervous in his apron. Keiji’s fingers tightened around the flower. His eyes fluttered shut and he was suddenly aware of how brilliant Bokuto really was. How lucky he was to have him here, after everything. “You’re too good for me.”

“You’re too good for _me-”_ Bokuto started, but Keiji had pulled him into a crushing hug before he could finish. If his eyes were open Keiji would have been able to see the sunflower peeking out from over Bokuto’s shoulder.

Without much thought he pressed his lips to Bokuto’s cheek, feeling the skin warm beneath them.

“‘ _Kaashi,”_ Bokuto elongated his name, pressing his head into Keiji’s neck.

Keiji tightened a hand on the back of his shirt. “Come inside.”

“I can’t, I have to get home. I just wanted to give you this.”

Keiji pouted. It wasn’t an expression he used often. “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, ‘Kaashi.” He pressed a kiss to Keiji’s hairline. He leaned into it with all his weight.

“Can I come with you, to your house then? I won’t distract you.” Keiji asked.

“You can _always_ come to my house. Anytime.”

“Is after dinner okay? I just have to finish my bio work.”

“Of course! I need to get home now but you can just let yourself in. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Keiji unfurled himself from the hug. He used his free hand to brush over Bokuto’s collar. The green text on his black shirt said _The Garden Store._ He ran material between his forefinger and thumb, the heat from Bokuto’s neck just barely reaching. He darted his eyes up to Bokuto’s.

“I love a man in uniform,” Keiji teased, just to see the way Bokuto’s throat would bob as he swallowed, for the embarrassed smile that would light up his face. Bokuto clutched to Keiji, bright red and laughing.

“Even if it’s covered in dirt?”

“ _Especially_ if it’s covered in dirt.”

“Bye bye, Keiji,” Bokuto laughed and moved to pull away.

Keiji did a quick glance over the street before pressing their lips together fleetingly. It was worth the risk for the way Bokuto beamed brightly afterwards.

“See you in a bit.” He was reluctant to let go.

“Love you!” Bokuto said as he walked backwards down the steps leading to Keiji’s porch. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re going to fall if you walk like that.”

Bokuto gasped. “You didn’t say it back!”

“Say what back?” Keiji cocked his head, playful.

“Akaashi!”

“Love you too.”

Bokuto waved up the entire length of the street until he turned the corner. Keiji waited until he was gone before heading back inside the house.

Searching the kitchen cupboards he managed to find something vase-reminiscent and filled it with water. He had read online somewhere once that adding sugar to water was meant to make flowers last longer so he added some of that too, then hauled the whole thing upstairs. It was heavy and required two hands. He didn’t want to drop it.

After consideration he decided to place the vase on the desk- it was the area of the room he felt he needed Bokuto’s support the most. His papers were clear and organised so it took only a minute to shuffle them out the way and leave a spare spot on the desk. Then he placed the hulking sunflower into the container.

The room seemed to glow around it- a spot of sunlight in an otherwise shadowy cavern. It felt like a metaphor.

He got back to working. It was a long and arduous task that filled him with stress and worry. Typing on the laptop and writing out equations was a necessary part of his life that he couldn’t escape. But he found that every time his eyes glances over to the flower he couldn’t fight off a smile.

—

Kazumi had given him a lift to school that morning.

“You could drive yourself to school in the mornings if you wanted, you know,” he said teasingly. “I would just have to sit here and supervise. And drive back, of course.”

“I’m too tired to drive in the mornings.”

“Oh, and I’m not? Maybe I should just let you walk then.”

“I mean you can let me drive if you want, but I can’t guarantee your car will make it out safely.”

“She has a name, thank you very much.”

“Your _car_?” Kazumi nodded sagely as he turned the corner. “You named your car?”

He didn’t elaborate.

“Since when?”

“Since always.

“What is it, then?”

Kazumi preened, proud as he said it. “Bertha.”

“ _Bertha?”_ Keiji groaned. “Why would you choose _Bertha?”_

“She just looks like a Bertha, don’t you think?”

Keiji thought the Honda Civic looked more like a Berkley, or a Sylvia. Something younger and sexier than _Bertha._

“I’m going to take your silence as a yes,” Kazumi decide after a minute.

“I can’t believe you called her Bertha.”

“Well, when you get a car you can name her what you want.”

 _When_ you get a car. Keiji hadn’t properly considered the idea of ever owning his own car, but now that Kazumi had said that he knew it was a goal that could never run away from him.

His own car. What would it look like? He’d want something sleek and metallic; something which reeked of money and modernity. Something flashy enough that strangers on the street would be proud of him for earning.

It filled up his head as he thanked Kazumi for the car and walked the steps through to Fukurodani. Him, driving up a long and deserted road faster than the wind, with Bokuto in the passenger seat playing the silly playlist he had made of cheesy love songs wearing expensive sunglasses, Bokuto’s hand over his on the gearstick with the wind tousling his hair. He could drive them anywhere in the world. Maybe he could teach Bokuto to drive the way Kazumi taught him, and they could make out in the backseat after.

Bokuto had an early meeting with Coach Yamiji that morning about plans for his scholarship for the upcoming months so had sent Keiji a flurry of romantic texts wishing him a good morning, saying he’ll see him at lunch, that he loved him. Keiji had wished him good luck, that he loved him too. It was like now that he had said the words _I love you_ he was unable to _stop_ saying them. Every time he opened his mouth around Bokuto they tumbled out involuntarily.

His first class started in fifteen minutes- Keiji always arrived early, the thought of being late churned his stomach- so he made his way to his locker. Usually he would use this time to talk to Bokuto, but he was sure he could preoccupy himself for the short while, or maybe take an extra slow walk to class. It would give him more time to listen to the silly playlist Bokuto had made him. He was already fumbling for the headphones in his pocket when his phone buzzed. He picked it up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said. He sounded out of breath. “Akaashi, where are you?”

“At my locker. Aren’t you with coach?”

Punching in the code to his locker was subconscious at this point, and Keiji was so lost in thought and the dull creak of it opening that he almost didn’t notice the slip of paper as it tumbled to the floor. He bent down to pick it up.

“I’m coming to find you. Please don’t freak out. Just. Akaashi, please don’t freak out. I’m on my way now.”

It was folded into quarters- a note? He flipped it over but there was nothing on the back, so he looked at the front again. Creasing his eyebrows he opened it, being careful so as not to crease the paper further. The ink was bleeding through the back of the page and he could feel his heart beat quicken and he pretended he didn’t notice, but when he opened it fully the black scrawl was prominent.

_Fag._

Everything plummeted. Bokuto’s voice was tinny from the phone. “Akaashi, are you okay? Answer me, please.”

His breathing was coming faster but he couldn’t stop it. He struggled to take his eyes off of the paper. _Fag._ How the _fuck_ did anyone know?

He tore his head from the note to see scan the crowds of people and see if he could notice anybody laughing, if anyone knew about the note, or perhaps had left it. He could feel their eyes boring into him like hawks, like everybody knew. As if this person had written this note on his forehead instead of on this small slip of paper shoved through the gaps of his locker. He wanted to crumple it in his fist but found he couldn’t move his hand.

He could hear Bokuto’s breathing over the phone, fast, and he couldn’t hang up, but he couldn’t respond. He couldn’t do anything except stare at the note burning holes into his hands.

Which was precisely when Bokuto walked into the hallway, eyes moving fervently through the crowd until they found Keiji’s own, and then he was pushing through the crowds of people to get to him. His tie was loose around his neck. When Keiji looked down he noticed there was a piece of paper crushed in Bokuto’s grip.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto called when he was close enough for Keiji to hear.

He clenched his eyes shut but he could feel everyone staring at him. They were all looking at him, because they all _knew._ Everybody fucking knew.

It was a slow and torturous hell designed perfectly for Akaashi.

He turned around and walked straight towards the doors of the school. He needed to go home. He was done with school.

“ _Akaashi_!” Bokuto yelled again. Keiji ignored it.

He had just made it to the door when there was a hand on his wrist. Coldly he pulled away, turning to see Bokuto’s wide, golden eyes. Keiji couldn’t think clearly enough to tell what expression he wore.

“How did this get in my locker?” He asked instead. It was crumpled in his grip but he knew he didn’t have to elaborate, because Bokuto had one too.

He wasn’t angry, he realised, even though he thought he was. He was _scared_. Bokuto was frantic, and guilty, and full of nervous energy.

“Akaashi, I know you didn’t want everyone to find out, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, but you have to know I didn’t mean to. I’m so, so, sorry-”

“What happened, Bokuto?”

Bokuto withered. Keiji could hear people talking, laughing, pointing.

Keiji did whatever he did when he was hurt; he put on a cold mask and carefully concealed anything he was feeling, and he pushed everyone away. He was his mothers son, after all.

“Someone got a photo. Of us.”

His heart sunk.

“Show me.”

“I don’t know if you want to see-”

“Bokuto _show me_.” His tone was clipped.

Bokuto pulled his phone out of his pocket and Keiji could see the notifications building up on the lock screen, texts and pop-ups pinging his phone as he tapped in the passcode. They didn’t stop as Bokuto scrolled to find the photo. He clutched his bag strap tighter in his fists until it burned.

Bokuto turned the phone around to show the photo of them kissing on Keiji’s doorstop.

It had been taken from the back and Bokuto’s hair was plastered to his head, meaning he must have taken a shower at Keiji’s house, and one of Keiji’s hands was cupping his jaw _so_ gently, the way he would hold a baby bird in his broken palms. It was slightly blurry, too- Keiji might not have even been recognisable if weren’t for the exact angle it was taken from.

He was wearing his glasses. He was wearing Bokuto’s favourite soft, green hoodie- one Keiji had taken after their picnic date and only wore when Bokuto stayed the night. This wasn’t a side of himself he wanted anyone seeing _but_ Bokuto. It was an intimate photo and it had been stolen from him.

Keiji could see it had been posted on Bokuto’s facebook timeline from a fake account, meaning anybody who was friends with Bokuto would be able to see it, and Bokuto was a sports personality with a heart of gold. There were more people who were friends with him than not. Who _hadn’t_ seen the photo at this point? Why didn’t Keiji fucking _know?_

He couldn’t bear to read the comments but he couldn’t ignore the growing influx of notifications buzzing on Bokuto’s phone. He could see glimpses of the messages as they flashed across the top of the screen: _bro, ur gay?? wtf._

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Keiji whispered. Bokuto reached for him but he pulled away. Their eyes met, hurt and confused. “Don’t touch me.”

He could see the the rejection clear on Bokuto’s face. The photo taunted him in his mind. He couldn’t get it _out._

“Akaashi, please, I’m so sorry. I’ve reported the photo and it should be taken down any minute now, and so have all of our friends. Sarakui texted me and Kuroo called like five minutes ago to tell me to check facebook, I didn’t even know, I don’t really ever check facebook! Especially not in the mornings. But most people aren’t even posting anything mean, they’re being supportive!” Bokuto tried to show him the comments but Keiji looked away. He couldn’t stomach it. Bokuto stilled, but kept his gaze pleading. He knew this was hurting Keiji more than himself, but that didn’t mean he knew how to handle it.

Keiji didn’t want to know just how many people had seen this intimate snapshot of his life, of him at his most vulnerable. He bit his lip and counted to ten in his head over and over and over again, whispering the numbers to keep track. Everything was falling apart. He could hear people whispering. He clutched at his emotions like water falling through his open fingers.

“Akaashi, I know you didn’t want people to know but it’s okay, we’ll get through this together-”

Bokuto reached for his hand and Keiji snapped. _“I said don’t touch me!”_

Bokuto pulled back as though he had been burned. In a way, he had. Keiji was an open flame and that photo had poured several tonnes of gasoline in a ring around him. He clutched his hands to his chest, desperate to pull at the skin around his fingers but had forgotten the note was in his hands until his fingers touched.

“I have to go to class,” Keiji said, brittle, and Bokuto nodded gently, but didn’t reach for him again. Keiji knew he was about to cry but he couldn’t get his body to work, to comfort him. All he wanted to do was get out of this fucking school. Bokuto didn’t even stop him as he walked the wrong direction, straight out of the doors to the front of the school and down the steps. He barely registered the bell signalling first period ringing as he dragged his feet up the pavement.

When Bokuto called his phone he ignored it.

—

He struggled to pull himself out of bed for the rest of the day. His mirror lay in broken shards in the centre of his room. In a fit of uncharacteristic rage he had punched it, but his insides had emptied before he could bring himself to pick up the shards.

 _Wallowing,_ his father would have said. _Does you no good._

 _Lazy,_ his mother would have said. _Belligerent_. _God, you don’t know anything about time management, do you Keiji? What will you do when you’re an adult and you’ve only got four hours in the day?_

 _Running away,_ Kazumi said. “You need to stop pretending all of your problems can be solved by locking yourself in your room.”

Keiji ignored him. He wasn’t allowed a lock on his door so if Kazumi _really_ wanted to get into his room he could, but Keiji just trusted he’d stay on his side.

His phone had been buzzing all day. He’d been tagged in the photo only shortly after and it didn’t take long for everyone in his life to see it too. Logically he could have turned the phone onto silent and stopped the deep pulsing ache of his heart, but something about the amplifying the pain was deeply satisfying. He wanted to pour as much salt in the wound as he could, to watch the notifications pop up on his phone one by one, to see the little snippets of messages from everyone he knew.

Like he deserved it. The pain.

His cousins, his uncles and aunts, his _grandparents._ That was the one Keiji was the most hurt by- he had spent whole summers at his grandparents place and most of his fondest childhood memories were spent with them. He was too scared to see what they would possibly say about him. It didn’t take long for Kazumi to see the picture either, to come shout some sense into Keiji, to beg him to open the door, to shout at him again.

He was not a secretive person by nature, but he was a private one. He wasn’t ready for everyone in his life to know, suddenly and all at once.

“Keiji, can you please just open the door? I already know what’s happened.”

“Go away,” he croaked. The phone flashed by his head. _i always knew volleyball was gay lol._

“You’re being selfish.”

Keiji wasn’t provoked. Kazumi groaned. Several seconds went by before he heard the footsteps retreating back down the hall, and then the silence was overwhelming.

He wanted the world to swallow him up. He wanted so desperately to turn back the time by weeks to stop himself from being so fucking _stupid_ to kiss in public. Being with Bokuto made him feel like he was on a plane above everything else when it should have made him afraid. It made him reckless. It made him stupid and blind.

He doesn’t know how long he laid there, empty, until he found the courage to lean forward and pick up the phone.

There were hundreds of notifications lighting up his lock screen, group chats and texts and facebook notifications and tags in photos and calls. The ones that stood out were from Bokuto.

**_Missed calls: Bokuto <3 (7)_ **

**_From: Bokuto <3_ **

_akaashi please answer me im so so sorry_

_keiji please i want 2 know ur ok_

_i asked chiaki if she saw u in class and she said u werent there u never skip_

_did u get home safe ??_

_i hope ur home safe <3 :(( im really worried_

_please don’t shut me out keiji_

_my whole family knows now. i know its hard for u but its hard 4 me too. please pick up._

_my mom said u can still always come over if u need 2. even if u dont want 2 see me_

He tried to type out a message but he wasn’t sure what to say. Nothing was registering in his head. That never happened with Bokuto. He thumbed over to some of his other messages.

**_Group: Fukurodani VBALL !!! :PP_ ** _(unread messages)_

**_Konoha:_ ** _practice on 2day ??_

 **_Komi:_ ** _when is there not?_

 **_Konoha:_ ** _dick_

 **_Sarakui:_ ** _oh my god @bokuto @akaashi check facebook_

 **_Sarakui:_ ** _like right now_

 **_Konoha:_ ** _??_

 **_Konoha:_ ** _oh shit u guys_

 ** _Bokuto:_** _im just off 2 talk 2 coach :)) ill check after the meeting !!_ (* ^ ω ^)

 **_Washio:_ ** _Check now, it’s serious. I’ve reported the image. I’m so sorry._

 **_Sarakui:_ ** _its a photo of u and akaashi. a private one._

 **_Bokuto:_ ** _??_

 **_Bokuto:_ ** _guys ive cancelled practice after school. please dont go into the changing rooms today theyve been vandalised. the school knows and theyre going 2 investigate. im so sorry_

 **_Komi:_ ** _fucking hell is everything okay?_

 **_Komi:_ ** _just seen. akaashi is going to be livid oh my god_

 **_Konoha:_ ** _bo are u ok?? ive just seen the photo im so sorry_

 **_Onaga:_ ** _Just seen whats happened. We still love you guys so much, just so you know. It doesn’t change anything_

 **_Komi:_ ** _^^^_

There were more messages along the same vein. Most of the team had messaged him separately asking if he was okay. Konoha had sent him a paragraph on how being gay wasn’t a big deal.

It didn’t stop at texts either. When he opened his social medias there were messages from people he had barely spoken too before, flooding his inboxes with apologies and well wishes and questions and answers.

**_Hinata Shoyou:_ ** _AKAASHI !!!! YOU”RE WITH BOKUTO???!!! THATS SO COOL I HAD NO IDEA AT ALL !!!!! I mean I should have noticed ur ALWAYS together but I didn’t !!!!! Ive already messaged Bokuto but needed to message u 2 !!!! :DDD_

 **_Kuroo Testurou:_ ** _Hey Akaashi I don’t have ur phone number so hav 2 use facebook. Please call Bokuto, he’s devastated. You know this isn’t his fault. Dont punish him._

 **_Chiaki Ito:_ ** _hey… ive just seen the photo. always ALWAYS here if you need to talk about it.. you have my number if you need it !! Ive reported it by the way_

 **_Akaashi Sadao:_ ** _What on earth is that picture? You were always so good Keiji. Why would you do this to the family? Your father would be ashamed._

 **_Tsukishima Kei:_ ** _saw the photo. I got the team to report it. I’m sorry this happened to you._

 **_Bokuto Atsuko:_ ** _Hi Akaashi, it’s Bokuto’s mom. I’m sosorry we had to find out like this, I know it’s not what either of you wanted, but Bokuto said you’ve been having a tough time at home. And he won’t leave his room. Please call him at some point. Our home is always yours too._

That was the only one Keiji tried to respond to, but the guilt of it weighed over any of the other messages. Nothing he could possibly say seemed right, and he wasn’t ready to talk to Bokuto yet, let alone anybody else. Everything was better kept deep in his chest where he could control it.

Finally steeling himself he went to check the comments on the post. There had been 47 when he last looked at the picture, but this time when he clicked on his profile the last post was one he had been tagged in a week ago at nationals,. By Bokuto.

So the post had been deleted, or taken down.

That was something. It was a start.

Kazumi knocked on the door again after a moment. He could hear the footsteps long in advance; the warning sign.

“Keiji, let me in.”

Keiji didn’t reply. He clicked over to Bokuto’s account to see if anyone had left any comments on his timeline, or tagged him in any new posts. They hadn’t. Bokuto was suffering in silence as much as he was.

“Keiji if you don’t let me in I’m just going to come in.”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“I don’t give a shit. You’ve got a minute to open this door or I’m coming in.”

He was giving Keiji a chance at keeping his dignity and opening the door by his own volition. Keiji didn’t take it. He’d rather suffer and on account of stubbornness.

“Suit yourself,” Kazumi muttered, and the door flew open. Keiji’s back was to it. “I’m not letting you sit and be sad alone.”

“I’m _laying_ ,” Keiji clarified. _“Laying_ and being sad alone.”

“Laying and being sad,” Kazumi corrected. “I’m here to lay and be sad with you.”

Keiji didn’t turn around as he felt Kazumi’s weight settle on the bed beside him.

After a moment Kazumi prodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He was silent for only a second. “You should probably call Bokuto.”

Keiji bristled. “You should stop giving me advice that I didn’t ask for.”

“Theres no need to be shitty, Keiji. You know, you sound a lot like mom when you talk like that.”

It was a slap to the face. The anger broiled before Keiji could cover it. 

“Why the fuck would you say that? God, just go away. It’s not like I asked you to come back.” He lashed out.

Kazumi stood up. Both of them were hurting as much as the other.“One day you’ll realise you need to stop pushing away the people that fucking care about you, Keiji. I’m on your side.”

“I didn’t ask you to be there.”

“You’re right. You didn’t. I’m here because I want to be. But if you don’t appreciate it I’ll just go.”

Keiji didn’t say anything. He didn’t turn around, but he heard the slam of the door as Kazumi left.

Everything was numb.


	19. only love in private

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when somebody needs you  
> tt's no good unless he needs you all the way  
> through the good or lean years  
> and for all the in-between years come what may  
> who knows where the road will lead us?  
> only a fool would say  
> but if you'll let me love you  
> it's for sure I'm gonna love you all the way, all the way
> 
> -all the way, frank sinatra
> 
> TW:  
>  •f slur  
>  •homophobic language + threat

Even though he rarely saw them Keiji still felt the overwhelming presence of his parents in every aspect of the house. Their ghosts were in the plaster, their fights were engraved in the floorboards.

Their home had never felt lived in, but after the dinner between his mother, Bokuto and him it seemed his parents were so rarely around that the house belonged more to their two young sons than them. They were holed away in their offices more than he ever remembered them being. He no longer ran into his mother working at the dining table in the middle of the night, and his father rescinded offers of lifts to school or cooking omelettes in the morning.

It was isolating. It made him acutely aware of how even though the affection he received before was little it wasn’t _nothing,_ which was what he was being given now. He longed for his parents to even look him in the eye. Them shouting at him for being with Bokuto would be better than this cold distance, than the silence.

The photo being leaked on a Friday initially seemed like the silver lining; it would be two whole days hidden away before he was forced to see anyone again. Two days to wallow under his covers and rehearse how to be the person he lost. But now it was chilling, because it turned out to be not be two days of peace but two days to left with his head to overthink every possible scenario, and ignore phone calls without the excuse of _I was at practice_ or _I’m doing homework,_ and it was two days without any hint of affection towards him from another person. Two days of being unloved when he needed it the most.

He wanted to be hugged. He _longed_ for it. Although he hadn’t left his bed in a day the sheets were cold around him. It made hating himself easier; asking for help harder. Even Kazumi seemed somewhat reluctant to talk to him now.

Keiji replayed their argument over and over in his head over the evening. He only felt bad about what he said because he knew there was truth Kazumi’s argument, and very little to Keiji’s.

He knew his parents had seen the photo by now. His grandparents had both seen it and sent him vaguely threatening messages, so even if his parents hadn’t stumbled across it on their facebook timelines they had definitely heard about it from his elderly relatives. Keiji said goodbye to the summers spent with them baking and watching crappy black and white films. He told himself he wouldn’t miss them. Bokuto was even something of a minor celebrity himself, being identified as one of Japan’s top-five-under-18 Aces. Keiji wouldn’t be surprised if there was a local news article on the scandal.

When he went to check the windows on Friday evening every room in the house was vacant. He didn’t know where they were, why nobody was home, but he didn’t have the energy to spare it anything more than a passive thought. He could count the amount of times he had left the bed in the last day on one hand. He wasn’t hungry for dinner, so he didn’t have any.

Everything caught up to him by Saturday. Not studying and not moving made him feel shitty. He wanted a shower, he _needed_ to eat, so he got out of bed with the intent of walking up to wood-panelled hall to the bathroom. Voices, however, stopped him above the stairway.

They spoke in hushed voices, though Keiji figured that was more to do with the topic of discussion rather than fear of being overheard. There was no way they _couldn’t_ talk about it, the giant elephant of a conversation it was, but that didn’t stop the surprise pulling at his edges as he heard.

“…the photo’s been taken down now, at least. Lest the whole fucking world knows.”

“Fuyuko, calm down,” Keiji’s father consoled, quiet. “I know that he’s difficult, that this is the last thing we want right now, but not even he wanted this.”

“No? He just happens to be kissing boys on our doorstep, then? Where everyone can see?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“No, you never know what to fucking say. Do you even have a mind of your own in there? I’ve not spoken to you in days, Rin.”

“And you’ve not spoken to him in weeks, Fuyuko!”

She laughed.

“You’ve been doing better then, have you? When’s the last time you spoke to the boy.”

There was silence, then a scoff.

“Exactly. Stop trying to make me look like a villain here, like you _always_ do.”

“I’m not- _god,_ would you listen to yourself?”

“Well the whole world knows now. That our son fucks men.”

“Look, I’m not any happier than you are, Fuyuko, but what good is cutting him out going to do?”

“Can you imagine what my parents would say if they knew? They would kill me, Rin!”

“He’s _alive,”_ his father said. Keiji bit into his lip hard enough to draw blood. “And he’s ours. There are much worse things he could be than gay.”

“God, why can’t we just have one normal fucking child?”

She sounded close to a sob. Keiji pushed his socked foot against the bannister of the stairs. He felt like he was four years old again, sneaking out of his bed past his bedtime to go visit Kazumi.

“They’re our children,” his father said, softly. Keiji could just about make out his vague shape in the light, his hand reaching for his mothers arm. It was the most he’d seen of his father in a week. “Do we not owe it to even _try?_ Keiji’s diagnosis was the hardest thing in any of our lives, and we got through that. Do you not think we can get through this too? Together?”

Silence again. Then, quiet enough that Keiji could barely hear the words from up the hall.

“I think we should get a divorce.”

Keiji left. His feet couldn’t carry himself fast enough to Kazumi’s door. He didn’t bother knocking, just pushed it open to show Kazumi laying on his bed, watching something absentmindedly on the TV. The sound was somewhat comforting as Kazumi groaned, flicked a button to pause it and turned to him with annoyance, and maybe residual anger.

“Okay, don’t bother knocking then.”

“Mom asked dad for a divorce.”

“Shit,” Kazumi said. His mouth gaped open. “Fuck.”

Keiji didn’t say anything else. He sat on the foot of Kazumi’s bed. The bedspread was soft- the same one it was three years ago, before he moved out. He hadn’t changed it since coming back.

Kazumi said, “maybe it’s for the best,” and Keiji said nothing.

“Shit, your lips bleeding,” Kazumi pointed out after a second. Keiji tasted copper. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

He must have sensed that Keiji didn’t want to talk about it anymore because he started to flick through the TV channels. Nothing was on, so he turned to DVD and the film automatically started playing. Keiji sat up.

“Groundhog Day,” he said.

Kazumi smiled sideways at him, eyes following the TV. “Your favourite.”

Keiji stared at him. Kazumi sighed and shuffled over on the bed to make a space next to him. He patted the seat, and Keiji let himself crawl into the vacant space.

“How many times have you watched this?” Keiji asked. He had seen it on a few times now. Kazumi was warm at his shoulder.

“Probably about as many as you. How ironic, watching Groundhog Day over and over again.”

“Yeah,” Keiji said. “Over and over again.”

The film started. Bill Murray presented the news, the camera panned to Rita. Keiji knew how it ended. He liked films that he knew the endings to. He liked this film in general, Bill Murray stuck in a permanent cycle, but one he could change freely. How comforting; the idea of a day that repeated forever. Which day would he repeat, if he was given the choice? He had thought about it a lot.

Maybe their first win at a nationals match. Maybe his first kiss with Bokuto, or his last one.

Maybe the day Kazumi came back home. Over and over and over.

Hesitantly, Keiji relaxed. When the film was halfway through and Phil broke down, he rested his head on Kazumi’s shoulder, and Kazumi wrapped his arm around him, carding his fingers through Keiji’s hair.

Over and over.

He had fallen asleep against Kazumi before the credits rolled.

—

School had always been a place that felt made for Keiji, where he thrived. He was naturally intelligent, and so polite that teachers always loved him and he could remain relatively popular among his peers without much difficulty. It was a place he could go where his parents couldn’t follow. It was stressful, sure, but he had never hated school.

He still didn’t _hate_ school exactly, but the thought of stepping into it again churned his stomach like butter. The tie around his neck was choking him, the stiff Fukurodani blazer stifling. It was uncomfortable. He didn’t want to go to his place where he had suddenly been thrust from the shadows into the limelight with all of his vulnerabilities circled in red ink.

Keiji had never been one to want everyone’s gaze on him- that had always been Bokuto’s thing. Imagining walking down the halls and having people notice him, discuss him behind his back, looking at screenshots of their intimate photo that would survive on the internet forever no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it, as Bokuto tries to make a name for himself in the sports world and is harshly rejected as a consequence. Maybe someone would approach him in the halls and ask him about it. Maybe someone would corner him by the asphalt and hit him- he had seen it happen enough times in the movies.

It only made him feel worse that Bokuto wasn’t by his side either. It was a lose-lose situation, knowing Bokuto would still hold his hand through all of this. It made him feel loved, made him feel shitty in comparison. Keiji _knew_ he would.

By the time the second bell rang Keiji realised not much had changed around him. Beside the eyes and the hushed voices everything remained the same- he walked to lesson, he took his notes, put his bag back in his locker after.

The problem was the flurry _inside_ of him. Everything internal. The things he couldn’t hide from, couldn’t push away. He wasn’t equipped for a fight with himself; he would always lose.

It was his first day back since the incident. Every part of him still ached from it.

When he arrived at his math class he was nervous to push open the door, for no reason other than the fear of the unknown. He took his usual seat by the back window and was lost in thought staring out of it.

Footsteps echoed on the linoleum as students shuffled into the class but Keiji didn’t turn to look at them. Class continued as it always did, except instead of writing notes he was lost in thought.

“Akaashi,” his name was called and he startled, turning his head to the front. It wasn’t like him to not be paying attention. His teacher was tapping her nails on the desk.

When he met her eyes she smiled. It was full of pity; how he knew _she knew_ about what had happened _._ “You’re wanted in the principals office, please.”

There was a giggle behind him. His blood curdled. He scooped up his bag and moved to leave, and his teacher continued to talk as he left.

Briefly, as the door swung open, he debated not going to the principals office and walking out of the school entirely. Then he saw the figure slumped next to his classroom door.

They perked up when they saw him come through, then slumped back down.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi.”

It was Bokuto, because of course it was. His hands were in his pockets and his hair was gelled up in the same way it always was. His tie was loose around his neck, because it always was. But there were bags under his eyes, and there was the dry crust of blood over his lip from where his teeth had undoubtedly been gnawing it. A habit they shared.

For a second he felt like he was looking at a stranger, not the man who he kissed and loved and wanted to spend his life with.

“Hi, Bokuto.” His voice was quieter than he wanted it to be.

“Hi. Uh, the principal wants us in his office.” Bokuto swallows. He seems to be debating saying something, opening and closing his mouth, and then does. “I didn’t want you to have to walk alone.”

Nothing Keiji was would ever be enough.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Keiji whispered. “I’m sorry.”

It was all threatening to come out, right here in the middle of the school corridors. Keiji had kept everything inside for so long, and for what?

He was so close to spilling over. Bokuto’s eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly pulled Keiji into the empty stairwell. It was vaguely echoey as he breathed rapidly, fingers pulling at his shirt and each other as he tried to claw himself away off from the edge of panic.

“Hey Akaashi, hey, I’m right here. It’s okay. I understand, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to ignore you. I’m so sorry, Bokuto. I’m just so _scared-”_

“I know, I know!” Bokuto smiled. It was sad. “I know this isn’t a fight against me.”

Feebly, ashamedly, Keiji reached for the cuffs of Bokuto’s blazer. Bokuto allowed himself to be pulled in, just so slightly that Keiji could feel the heat of Bokuto’s chest when he tipped his head forward.

“Come on, ‘Kaashi, we can talk later. The principal wants us.”

He could have forgotten. There was so much he needed to say to Bokuto and it felt like none of it could wait.

They walked up the tile a foot apart. Keiji clutched his hands to his chest because he was afraid one of them would reach over and link their hands together. He as afraid it would be him.

When they reached the door Keiji realised he had never been in the principals office before. He had never had an issue with school before, and he had no idea what to expect. Bokuto knocked and pushed the door open.

“Boys,” the principal nodded, lifting his head up from a stack of paperwork on his desk and acknowledging them by motioning to the two chairs pulled up opposite, looking back down to his papers. Keiji noticed the top of his head was just beginning to grey. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, please.”

Keiji followed Bokuto’s lead, sitting when asked, nervously flitting his eyes between the two men in the room. Principal Ogata cleared his throat, clasping his hands on the desk before lifting his gaze to look at them.

“I’m sure you both know the reason why you’ve been called here.”

Keiji nodded, hesitant. The principal raked his gaze between them. “I want to be very clear when I say this behaviour will _not_ be tolerated. Fukurodani prides itself on understanding and acceptance, as we believe these are basic rights every student is entitled to, both inside school and out. I just need to discuss the issue with you boys first so we can decide on a punishment together, see if anybody stands out as a culprit, and outline how you think the school could go about avoiding an issue like this again.”

Keiji nodded again. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. Bokuto said, “yes, sir.” Keiji couldn’t look at him.

“So, first and foremost, I’m just going to go over what happened on Friday, just to make sure we are all on the same page. If I get anything wrong please do interrupt me.” They nod. He flicks over a sheet of paper, licking his thumb to life the corner. Keiji hates it when people do that. “So, on Friday morning between seven and eight am, a photo was posted to both of your facebook timelines from an account called ‘ _Moe Lester’,_ which clearly is not a real account and cannot be traced back to any of the students currently in education here.”

And then principal Ogata flipped through his stack of paper to reveal the very image that had ingrained itself into Keiji’s retina. Him and Bokuto kissing on his front doorstep. He shut his eyes against it and nodded. When he opened them again the photo was gone and Ogata was writing something down.

“I also understand that you both received serious notes in your lockers. Akaashi’s with a homophobic slur, and Bokuto’s perhaps more direct and serious, with both a threat and intolerable homophobic language.”

Keiji didn’t know that.

What had the letter said? He looked over to Bokuto but he wasn’t looking back, instead digging into his bottom lip with his teeth and nodding at the principal, who was nodding sagely.

“If either of you boys still have the notes it might be a good idea to hand them in to us. We can see if anybody recognises the handwriting.”

“I threw mine away,” Keiji said. He nearly apologised, but stopped himself when it was on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t sorry.

“Me too,” Bokuto said, and he _did_ apologise. “Sorry.”

But his hands were fidgeting. He couldn’t meet the principal's eyes. Ogata made a note on his paper and looked up again. This time he sighed deeply.

“Then, of course, we’ve got to discuss the vandalism found in the boys' locker room by the main sports hall. Which is, of course, where the boys' volleyball team practices. I understand it was you, Bokuto, who found this?”

“Yes,” Bokuto confirmed. His voice was quieter than usual. “It was where my letter was, too. Not on the locker. Just on one of the benches.”

“Right. So, this is how we found the locker room after you reported the vandalism. Can you confirm this how it was when you found it? No differences?”

A photo was slid across the desk towards them. Keiji caught a glimpse of it, and he felt his heart freeze, falling to his stomach as Bokuto leaned over to examine it again.

An inch-deep layer of water coated the floor. Someone had jammed the taps. Splintered wood lined the benches. There were sizeable dents in most of the lockers, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the corners in an attempt to pry them open. Mindless, merciless damage, Clearly they didn’t know which lockers belonged to who, though, because it was Komi and Onaga’s who had been swung open on their hinges. It looked as though someone had come through with a wrecking ball. Keiji had to bite his lip to avoid getting emotional at the state of it.

And then there was the graffiti.

Crude images had been sprayed onto the cool metal in blood-red; shitty stick drawings of men fucking each other over the sinks and edging onto one of the spare lockers. The main act, though, was written central for them all to see.

_#4 ACE TAKES IT IN THE ASS !!_

And then on the lockers opposite.

_NO FAGS IN FUKURODANI !!!_

Bokuto cleared his throat. “Yeah, that's how I found it.”

Keiji couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

He found this alone. Bokuto must have walked through to get his things before meeting coach and found this waiting for him.

Was he scared? Keiji should have been there.

Why the _fuck_ did he leave? Why didn’t he answer Bokuto’s calls, respond to his texts? Bokuto had found this, alone, and still called Keiji to see if _he_ was okay after school, texted him throughout the day and visited his classes and thought about him. Still apologised to Keiji, and never lashed out, and _apologised_.

Keiji was awful. He hated himself so, _so_ deeply.

“Bokuto,” the name fell out of his mouth despite himself. Bokuto met his gaze. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto grinned. It was weak and wobbly. He moved his eyes back to the photo before the principal could get rid of it altogether. “I didn’t really _want_ you to see it.”

Sometimes Keiji wished Bokuto hated him. He wanted Bokuto to get angry and _yell_. Maybe, even, he wanted Bokuto to hit him. Then it might be easier to forgive himself.

He would never be enough compared to Bokuto, whose love was bigger than his body. Keiji knew he was the luckiest person in the world to have Bokuto’s affection, and yet he still held himself back from Bokuto when he should be trying to present the world to him on a platter. There was a cough.

“Okay boys, I know it’s probably pointless to ask, but do you have any idea who could have been behind this? It could help narrow the search.”

Bokuto shook his head.

The principal adjusted his hands on his desk.

“We’ll bring the matter up in assembly just to make it clear that behaviour like this will _not_ be tolerated. Not only the discrimination, but also the destruction of school property and misrepresentation of Fukurodani as a community. Homophobia within sports is already much more rife than it should be, as I feel you’re both probably already aware.” Keiji nodded. Bokuto, after a moment, did too. “If either of you are ever made to feel uncomfortable by another student, or anything happens like this again, or if you have _any_ idea who could have done this, please come to us immediately.”

“We will. Thank you, sir. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Keiji nodded.

As they exited back into the hallway there was nothing Keiji wanted more than to hold Bokuto’s hand for a lifeline. He wanted to cry into his shoulder. He wanted to be loved.

—

Bokuto offered to walk him home. Keiji declined.

Instead he pulled Bokuto aside into the boys' bathrooms. They smelled awful but there was nobody else inside and the door had a lock. It was private- somewhere he could talk to Bokuto without prying eyes.

“I just want to walk alone today. But we’re okay.” He pressed his thumb to just below Bokuto’s eye. Bokuto leaned into the touch, eyes soft. Keiji was disgusted with himself. “I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea about the vandalism. Are you okay?’

Bokuto nodded. Keiji knew he was lying.

“I should have been there for you. I don’t know why I didn’t pick up the phone.”

“I do,” he smiled sadly. He ran a finger along Keiji’s cheek. “The same reason you don’t want me to walk you home.”

Keiji opened his mouth. Shut it. Looked anywhere but Bokuto’s eyes. “Bokuto, I-”

“Is it me?”

“What?”

Bokuto looked away. “Are you scared about people knowing it’s _me_ you’re with?”

“No!” Keiji was taken aback. “No. It hasn’t got anything to do with you! I just-” he couldn’t voice it. His words weren’t working. “I-”

“It’s okay, I know it’s harder for you than it is for me, for people to see us together. It always has been. And that's okay!”

“It’s not you. It’s not you at _all_.” Bokuto looked away self consciously. Keiji kept his grip on Bokuto’s jaw firm, forcing Bokuto to look into his eyes. “It isn’t you. I love you so much, Koutarou.”

“Not as much as you’re scared of them.”

Everything in Keiji went still. Neither of them expected Bokuto to say that.

Bokuto was never angry at Keiji, never anything but entirely accepting and loving and kind. Keiji bit his tongue to stay calm. Rational.

“I love you so much,” Keiji repeated. “It has nothing to do with anyone else.”

“Do you love yourself?” Bokuto asked. Keiji’s eyes fluttered shut.

Their breathing was quiet. Outside the footsteps of Fukurodani students seemed to be louder than everything except the blood pulsing in his neck.

“Yes,” Keiji said. He gripped his hands into fists as he said it.

Bokuto stared at him.

A finger traced his jaw again, moved to just below his eye. He relished it.

“Keiji,” Bokuto started. He spoke the way he talked to babies and wounded cats. Like Keiji would run away. “You know I love you more than the whole entire world. And I know you love me too. I know you love me more than you’re scared of them. I _do_ ,” he smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, and he moved a hand to cup Keiji’s jaw the way Keiji was doing to him just a moment ago. “I think you don’t love yourself.”

“That isn’t it,” Keiji said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re scared of them seeing us because you care about what they think about you. Because _you_ don’t care about you.”

“No.”

“Then why won’t you hold my hand, Keiji?” He paused. “Why can’t anyone else know you love me?”

He was on the edge. Keiji could hear it in the way Bokuto’s voice shook. He didn’t raise his voice but it echoed around the bathroom, amplified by Keiji’s obsessive thoughts and fears. His tongue was dry.

He knew he was hurting Bokuto, even if Bokuto would never admit it. But Keiji was scared. He wanted to hold Bokuto’s hand until the end of forever, but deep down Keiji knew Bokuto didn’t believe him.

“Because they hate us. Because they’ll hurt us. _You.”_ Keiji was desperate. “They’ll hurt _you.”_

“I love myself,” Bokuto said. The words were firm, like something he had practised saying a thousand times in the mirror. His hands were unshaking, and his stare was unbroken. “No matter what happens, Keiji, I love who I am. And I always will. And nothing anyone out there-” he pointed at the locked door, “-says or does will ever make me think I am wrong. Because I’m _not_.”

“It’s not the same for me!”

“Why not?”

“You don’t understand.” He looked away.

“Then help me!” Bokuto melted. Keiji felt the hand that wasn’t cupping his jaw trail down his arm, feebly entwining his hand in Bokuto’s firm grip, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “Help me understand, Keiji. I don’t want you to be hurting.”

“You’ve got people who will love you no matter what happens. You’ve got a family who come to your games and eat dinner at the same time as you, who say goodnight to you every evening, who love you. Who _adore_ you, who look forward to you coming home each day. I-” his voice strained. “I don’t. I don’t have that, Bokuto.”

“You have me.”

Bokuto pulled him into a hug. Keiji burrowed his head into his neck. Everything hurt.

“It’s not the same.”

Bokuto whispered, “I know.”

He let himself be held for a long time. The truth was he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want Bokuto to look into his eyes again incase he could see something in there which Keiji wanted buried. He wrapped his arms tightly around Bokuto’s back.

“Do you know what I would give for my parents to love me the way yours love you?”

Bokuto kissed the top of Keiji’s head, pulling him so close Keiji thought they would melt together.

“I want to be loved,” he whispered. “Why don’t they love me?”

“ _I_ love you. It’s okay,” Bokuto rocked him as he scrunched his eyes against the tears. He couldn’t cry now because he would never stop. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I love you. I love you so, so much.”

He was on a ledge leaning over the tallest building in the world, and all it would take was one push for him to go tumbling over the edge. His world was falling apart quicker than Bokuto could piece it back together.

All it would take is one misstep and Keiji would break. He couldn’t let that happen.

It wasn’t going to happen.

He loved himself.

If he told himself that enough, he would believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D: 
> 
> a lot of angst ,,,, (the next chapter is my favourite, though)
> 
> ((also updates might come at weird times in the next few weeks because of christmas ,,, i cant believe how close this story is getting to being over))


	20. overcoming steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i'm just too good, maybe i'll run away  
> maybe i'm over you, maybe i shouldn't stay  
> maybe i just don't care, maybe i talk too much  
> but baby i'll be there  
> yeah, baby i'll be there  
> it's been a little hard, i've been a little tough  
> but maybe all along  
> i'm afraid, i'm afraid, i'm afraid  
> i'm afraid, i'm afraid, i'm afraid
> 
> -maybe i'm afraid, lovelytheband

Bokuto’s sister was getting married tomorrow morning and Keiji had decided he was no longer going to the wedding.

Over a month ago now Bokuto had invited him as a plus one, back when he could be disguised under the pretence of being a close friend and before their intimate lives were thrust onto social media for both their families and anybody even remotely interested in sports to see. Everybody knew they were together- if he went to the wedding he would be committing to going as Bokuto’s boyfriend, to all of Bokuto’s family. There was no anticipating how that would go, and he wasn’t sure either of them were ready for that.

But Bokuto did not rescind his invitation, and still called him every night. The worst it all had passed. They were okay, which was what Keiji really cared about above all else.

“I still want you there,” Bokuto had assured down the line. “As my friend _or_ my boyfriend.”

“I think they’ll all know which one I am.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto agreed, sighing. “Still.”

Keiji averted his eyes, clutching the phone in two hands as if it had a heartbeat. He could hear his own, thumping in his ears.. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay. That’s okay! There’s no pressure or anything! I know it’s really soon after…everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Keiji said. He closed his eyes, because he could hear the disappointment thick as mud. No matter how hard Bokuto tried to hide his emotions Keiji could always hear it in his voice. “I’ll text you the whole time.”

The suit he would have worn was hung over the door to his wardrobe and he eyed it while burrowing in bed. It was a punishment for himself, for being a coward. He wanted to feel the weight of this thing he couldn’t do staring at him.

There wasn’t a single thing in the world he wanted more in this moment than to hold Bokuto’s in public and not care who saw, to rest his head on Bokuto’s shoulder when they were benched during practice or in his lap as they ate lunch, to attend Bokuto’s sisters wedding as his boyfriend. Bokuto wanted it too.

Keiji doesn’t know what was stopping him. Kazumi did. He politely told Keiji every day, barging into his room and starting what was sure to barrel into an argument.

“You’re a coward,” he would tell Keiji, slumped against the doorway because then Keiji couldn’t _technically_ tell him to get out. “You’ve already done the hard bit. What could possibly go wrong more than it already has?”

Keiji would tell him to get out anyway. Kazumi acted as if Keiji hadn’t thought about these things or wasn’t aware of how irrational he was being, when it seemed Keiji couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Today Kazumi didn’t belittle or criticise Keiji. He stood in the doorway as he usually did, but when caught sight of the suit hanging on the wardrobe he took it upon himself to walk in and brush his finger up the dark sleeves. Keiji wanted to tell him to get out.

“What’s this for?” Kazumi asked. He peeled back the suit jacket to reveal the crisp black shirt underneath it, the dark red tie hung overtop. _“Fancy,”_ he whispered, smoothing the material with his fingertips.

“Bokuto’s sisters getting married tomorrow.” Kazumi turned around, curious, so Keiji added, “I’m not going.”

“Were you invited?”

“Well I don’t have the suit for nothing.”

Instead of the usual tough love and snarky comment Kazumi would give (especially since Keiji was being snarky himself), he turned around and his eyes looked softer. Kazumi had premature forehead wrinkles and they showed. His eyebrows were downturned and his expression said _oh Keiji._ He might have said it out loud.

For a moment Keiji thought he would come and sit on the foot of Keiji’s bed, as the usually port of call signifying an important conversation was coming, but instead he turned his attention back to the suit. Keiji couldn’t see him very well except for the wide expanse of his back, wearing an oversized band-tee with tour dates from the nineties running vertically.

Keiji couldn’t tell exactly what Kazumi was thinking without seeing his face, but when he spoke the words were course, as if he had dragged them up through his throat from the depths of his stomach.

“Arisu broke up with me,” he said, mellow. Keiji was suddenly acutely aware of the breeze on his arms, bringing the hairs to stand on edge. “A while ago. For lots and lots of reasons, before you ask. And you can laugh at that if you want. I know you never liked her, or me that much either.”

His tone did not make Keiji want to laugh. “When?”

“Before I got back here. I didn’t want to tell you guys, because I’m trying to be a less shitty person, and I knew you’d ask lots of questions or you would judge me or- I don’t know. I miss her, though. I miss her so much. And I lied to you too, so I guess I _am_ a shitty person, either way.”

Kazumi continued to stare at the suit, fascinated by the silver clasps at the cuffs and the ebony buttons detailing the front. He spared a glance over his shoulder. Keiji was staring at his hands; they were trembling.

“You can ask why, if you want.”

He _did_ want. “Why?”

Kazumi laughed, an empty noise, usually so full of life. A single instrument where an entire orchestra should be playing.

“I can’t remember if you actually ever met Arisu, or if you just heard about her from mom and dad. We got together after we stopped talking to eachother. When you stopped visiting.”

“I met her, once.”

It was a formality; one he couldn’t weasel his way out of. He was sixteen and Kazumi had gone off to University and come home with a pretty blonde girlfriend who followed him around like a lost puppy, who laughed at his parents jokes and was studying politics; smart enough to run laps around Kazumi and leave his hands tied behind his head.

His parents loved her, after that one dinner. They paid for her and Kazumi to get an apartment together. Though he knew it was counterproductive Keiji couldn’t help but compare her to Bokuto- how much they loved Arisu, to how they want to chase Bokuto out with pitchforks. Are they really that different?

“She was the most perfect being in the whole universe, to me. I loved her with my whole entire being. When she walked into a room it was like- it was like all of time stopped, just so I could spend a few seconds longer to look at her. I wouldn’t have changed one thing about her. There wasn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do to make her laugh. God, she-” His voice caught. “-she made me want to try, you know? To be better?”

Keiji knew. Keiji _knew._ Kazumi’s voice was thick.

“Love just isn’t always enough. I didn’t have _time._ I was working so hard, doing my internship and studying and I was learning to drive at the time, too. We never saw each other and in the end it wasn’t enough, because we spent more time fighting than anything else. I took it for granted because I loved her, and I thought she would still love me even though the things she loved about me were no longer there. It wasn’t the case clearly.”

“That’s stupid. You were both busy, you can’t change that.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You loved eachother.”

“I know.”

Kazumi turned over his shoulder again and Keiji could see that there were tears in his eyes, and a single one fell down the curve of his cheek, collecting at his jaw in the light. He smiled, sadly, and pulled the tie off from around the coat-hanger. Keiji tracked the movements with his eyes carefully as he walked past the window, a single silhouette against the blinding evening light.

The last time he saw Kazumi cry he was twelve years old and upset because their parents were shouting downstairs. Keiji was scared, too, and his big brother had pulled him into his room and they hugged on the floor, leaning their weight against the door to ensure it stayed closed.

Kazumi reached the foot of the bed and Keiji watched him with wide, unblinking eyes, careful.

He didn’t know how to handle this Kazumi. Kazumi laughed.

“I’m not a good person, Keiji. No matter what I do, I’m a villain of someone’s story.”

The Akaashi boys all had the same hair- thick and curly and dark, and Kazumi’s eyes were the same stormy blue-grey as his. Both their jaws are perpetually firm. Keiji was aware of how similar they looked, but he had always thought Kazumi was on some unattainable standard of confidence and sureness that he would always be held on a pedestal above Keiji. A god where Keiji was a man. A man, where Keiji was a boy.

But with tear tracks staining his tanned and freckled cheeks, heart-break audible through the slight hitches of breath he took when he tried to smile at Keiji, his brother was just that; another person, one who happened to be born three years before him suffering with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Kazumi crawled across the bed on his knees until he got to Keiji’s side. Biting his lip he took the crimson tie, still clutched in his pale hands, and looped it around Keiji’s neck. His eyes watched as Kazumi deftly tied it. His knuckles stood out more than Keiji’s, as if he had broken them somehow, and they brushed the column of Keiji’s throat as he pulled the tie through the loop, straightening it.

“I don’t know everything, Keiji. In fact, I don’t know much at all.” He cleared his throat. “But I know what it feels like to lose someone I loved because _I_ was being shitty. And I know this isn’t the same, and I will never understand what you’re going through right now. But what the fuck is shutting yourself out going to do? You’ve been dragged through the mud by everyone except him. Why are you punishing _him_ for it?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

Kazumi tilted his head. “Maybe not. What _are_ you doing?”

He dropped the hands from Keiji’s shoulders. Keiji found himself staring into his brothers eyes, blue like his own, hoping the answers were in there somewhere. Looking as though he might understand who he was if he tried hard enough.

“I don’t know.”

Kazumi smiled, sad. He patted Keiji’s shoulders, then gripped his hands in his own and got off the bed.

“Stand up.”

“Why?”

Kazumi didn’t answer, just tugged more incessantly, and Keiji reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Kazumi positioned them in front of the big mirror on Keiji’s wardrobe door; Keiji in front, tie loose around his neck, looking ridiculous in his pyjama shirt and shorts. Kazumi only an inch taller, peeking out from Keiji’s shoulder.

“Our parents have fucked up a lot of things,” Kazumi said, meeting Keiji’s eyes in the mirror. Keiji took in the sight. “But they haven’t fucked up us. Not completely.” He breathed through his nose. “Not yet.”

Keiji watched the both of them as the sunlight filtered in through the blinds.

Two boys, one soul. Somewhere in the loneliness Keiji had forgotten that his brother grew up the same way he did; afraid, and alone, and reliant on another tiny person to help them get through it.

When he was younger, Keiji thought his big brother was the best person in the whole universe. There wasn’t anybody bigger, or stronger, or cooler or funnier, anyone with as good a music taste. Nobody who would eat Keiji’s vegetables when their parents looked away or play with him when he was lonely,or do his homework when it was too hard for him to understand and he would cry himself into a state, clutch him to their chest when their parents were yelling and he was scared to sleep.

Standing in front of him in the mirror, Keiji couldn’t help but think the same thing. Nobody was bigger. Nobody was cooler.

He had missed his brother, Akaashi Kazumi. He missed this.

—

The tie was tight around his neck; not because Kazumi had tied it for him wrong, but because he had been nervously pulling on it as he knocked on the Bokuto’s door. They wracked his body as he waited.

“Hello-” a voice started, opening the door a fraction, and then widening to the whole way when Bokuto’s mother saw it was Keiji at the door. “Akaashi? Oh my gosh, come in, it’s freezing out there. Come in.”

“Thank you, Mrs Bokuto.” He said, toeing off his shoes before stepping in. “I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

“Don’t be silly. Don’t you dare _ever_ be so silly.”

Once he was over the entryway she pulled him straight into her chest, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and back and enveloping him in immediate overwhelming warmth. She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Thank you so much for coming. We didn’t think you were coming! This will mean the whole world for him.”

“It’s nothing compared to what he’s done for me,” Keiji laughed, nervously. Then he cleared his throat. Bokuto’s mothers arms were still tight around his shoulders. “I’m, um. I’m so sorry, about everything. With me, and with Bokuto.”

She squeezed him tight, and then pulled back all at once so Keiji could see her entire face as she spoke, red and complicated. Her eyes were gold, too. “That boy loves you with his entire heart. How could we ever hate that?”

Before he could answer, before he could address the glowing embers burning a hole through the pit of his stomach, she had turned away back to the staircase, pretty blue dress fluttering as she walked up. “I’ll go get him for you.”

Keiji couldn’t respond before she had disappeared upstairs. Somewhere children were screaming, and he could hear Bokuto’s fathers booming laughter from the living room. He was distinctly aware that this was not his house, and he nervously fiddled with his fingers as he waited.

“Akaashi?”

Keiji’s gaze shot upward. It was as if he was pulled by a magnet- he always was, to that voice. It called and he answered. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Bokuto waiting there at the top step.

He was wearing a suit, hugging his biceps and thighs _so_ nicely, and his eyes were so wide and his mouth edging into a smile the way it _always_ was. His hair had been combed over and gelled the way it was when he took Keiji on their first official date.

Keiji couldn’t breathe, no words were coming to him. All of time stopped so he could relish the way Bokuto was looking at him.

Bokuto bounded down the stairs because he never did anything half-way, but his eagerness dissipated when he reached the bottom, when he stood opposite Keiji.

“You came,” Bokuto said, voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“Yeah. You look-” Keiji cleared his throat. His gaze was flitting between Bokuto’s beautiful gold eyes and the tie around his neck. It was crooked, and Keiji’s hands moved to fix it without thinking. “You look so good.”

Bokuto smiled. His eyes crinkled by the side, the way they did when he was genuinely happy. “So do you. You always do.”

He eyed Keiji over, smiling. Gradually he looked back up to Keiji’s face.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I- I wasn’t going to.” Keiji admitted, then steeled himself. “But I know it’s important to you, and you’re important to me. More important than anything else.”

Fondness was clear in Bokuto’s eyes, in the generous breadth of his grin. His eyes were jumping around Keiji’s face, desperately trying to get a reading, happy with whatever he was finding.

“Can I hug you?” Bokuto whispered. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-”

Keiji had his arms around him in a second, clutching him impossibly closer with until their chests were crushed against one another and their breathing synced, until he could feel Bokuto’s hand on the back of his head pulling him towards his shoulder. Bokuto smelled the same as he always did, of bar soap and apple shampoo.

“I missed you,” Keiji said muffled into Bokuto’s shoulder. He felt Bokuto nuzzle deeper.

“You’re here.”

—

Keiji had never been to a wedding before. His parents married before he was born, and his aunts and uncles before them, and after his diagnosis he had been dropped off the invitation list of his cousins, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

There were a lot of people. Already the nerves were causing the palms of his hands to sweat.

“Don’t worry,” Bokuto said aside to him. Bokuto already knew, of course. “Just stay near me. I’m good with people!”

He beamed. Keiji stood close, hoping he could skate through the Bokuto family reunion.

“There’s _so_ many people.”

“Kumiko is quite popular!” Bokuto smiled. “So is Eichi. Most of these are cousins, anyway. I don’t know a lot of these people either. Wow, there really are a lot of people here, huh.”

Bokuto leaned to see around the crowds of people outside the venue. Everybody was saying their hellos before the chapel opened in fifteen minutes for admittance.

“That’s Eiji,” he pointed across the way to an older greying man laughing with a group of people. “My uncle. And his kids, my cousins, Sakura, Akane and Daijiro.”

“Okay,” the names disappeared from his mind immediately, though he nodded as though they were all committed to memory. “Okay.”

“And auntie Emiko over there with uncle Hajime!”

Blank. “Okay.”

Bokuto’s younger sister Yuna appeared at their feet, a pink flower pinned in her dark hair and her arms crossed menacingly.

“You’re meant to hang out with _me_ today, Koutarou!” She pouted. “Or I have to play with Hibiki and Nori. The _kiddies.”_

Bokuto laughed. “Yuna, you’re eight.”

“Exactly!” She sounded exasperated.

“Okay then, come on,” Bokuto smiled and motioned for her to come over. When she did he lifted her up through the air and she squealed, dress flurrying out after her, and he settled her on his hip, heaving. “God, you’re getting _big.”_

“I know!”

It was one of Keiji’s favourite things about Bokuto, not that he’d ever admit it; how good he was with children. He couldn’t fight off the smile as Bokuto pretended to drop Yuna, giggling as she shrieked and desperately wrapped her arms around his neck.

He would be such a good dad one day.

Keiji couldn’t stop thinking stupid things. Maybe it was because Bokuto was wearing a suit. It wasn’t good for his health.

“You haven’t said hello to Akaashi!” Bokuto ribbed her after a second. “That’s not like you.”

“Hello Akaashi,” she said, burrowing her head nervously in Bokuto’s neck. Keiji wasn’t sure _why._ They had spoken plenty of times, and he was hardly a figure of intimidation.

“Hi, Yuna.” He smiled. “Bokuto told me last week that you fell over and hurt your knee quite badly. Are you feeling any better?”

“I didn’t _fall,”_ Yuna emphasised. “I was _pushed._ I’m not a baby, though, so I’m fine. Look at my plaster!”

She lifted her dress to show Keiji the hello kitty plaster across her knee. Bokuto had offered him that same plaster months ago in the changing room after nerves had made Keiji rip his fingers to pieces.

“Oh wow. You _are_ brave,” he agreed. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It hurt a _lot_ first but now it doesn’t. And Bokuto told me to punch the mean bullies in the head so they don’t do it again.”

“I did _not_ say that!” Bokuto sounded outraged. Keiji laughed.

“Koutarou, is that _you?”_ A voice called out from somewhere in the crowds of hundreds, and a tall man with an incredibly thick beard emerged, walking towards them with a look of both shock and exasperation on his face. Bokuto shuffled Yuna on his hip. Keiji stood placid on his other side.

“Uncle Goro!” Bokuto said, probably for Keiji’s sake more than anything else. Goro pressed a kiss into his cheek.

“My boy, you’ve gotten _big!_ Look at you, one wrong move and you’re gonna come busting through that suit!”

Bokuto gleamed. “Thank you!”

“And is this my little Yuna? You were a _baby,_ last time I saw you! Look how big you’ve grown! I like your flower.”

Yuna didn’t say anything, just buried her face further into Bokuto’s neck.

Bokuto pouted. “She isn’t usually shy.”

“Not from what I heard. Can’t be as wild as you though, my boy! We watched your nationals game- incredible work! The way you hit those cross-spikes? Phenomenal! I was quite the athlete when I was your age too, though definitely not on your level.” He laughed. It was a hearty sound, a real belly laugh as opposed to a small, fake one. “Your parents must be so damn proud of you.”

Bokuto preened under the praise. Keiji couldn’t help but smile. 

Then Goro’s eyes panned over to Keiji standing at Bokuto’s side as if noticing he was there for the first time, widening dramatically. He stuck his hand out, and Keiji tentatively reached out to shake it. Bokuto eyed the interaction warily.

“Goro, this is-”

“Akaashi Keiji, Fukurodani starting setter,” Goro filled in. Keiji’s face reddened immediately. He had never been recognised before. “You were incredible in that game against Mori. Nobody has mastered the setter dump quite like you have, Akaashi! And how you toss for the spike to be a line-cut? Incredible. Absolutely incredible!”

His face was burning. “Thank you, Goro-san.”

“Modest, too. You ain’t _nothing_ like our Bokuto. You give that boy a compliment and his head grows four sizes.” He turned back to Bokuto and Keiji did too. Bokuto’s sole attention was on Keiji, beaming, as though he never turned away. He looked proud. It wasn’t an expression Keiji was used to seeing in response to himself.

Goro continued on, giddy and red in the face, and Keiji got the sense that if Bokuto was not holding a child then Goro would be rubbing his fist in Bokuto’s hair or gripping him in a headlock. “Just like Bokuto to bring volleyball wherever he goes. Can’t even attend his sisters wedding without bringing his team!”

“It’s just Akaashi, Goro. I didn’t bring the _whole_ team.”

“You make me laugh, my boy. People usually bring their girlfriends to these things. You’ve only gone and brought your setter!”

Bokuto laughed, flustered, and side eyed Keiji. Which was when Keiji realised that Bokuto was unexpectedly _nervous._

Because this was the first introduction, he realised. However they presented themselves here would be how they were seen for the night, and Goro couldn’t have made it clearer that he thought the two were just friends- if that.

He could be just a friend, if he wanted. Just a teammate.

Kazumi’s teary face stuck in his head. His confession.

_She made me want to be better._

_Why won’t you hold my hand, Keiji?_ Bokuto’s voice rang clear as day in his head, the one phrase that had been haunting him since he said it in that bathroom. _Why can’t anyone else know you love me?_

Bokuto wasn’t going to back him into a corner here- he had made that explicitly clear when he told Keiji that he could attend as a friend, that he would rather have a piece of Keiji than none of him at all.

Keiji visualised the words in his head before saying them. The ones he had practiced in his mirror, that had been aching to leave the empty cavern of his chest since he was small.

Goro continued laughing. His hand was still clasped around Keiji’s, a formality that had gone on too long.

“Actually,” Keiji interrupted. With a side eye to Bokuto, the memory of how _proud_ Bokuto looked at Keiji receiving praise from his family, he realised that he wanted this, too. He wanted people to know that he was more than just Bokuto Koutarou’s setter. “I’m his boyfriend.”

Bokuto’s eyes shot to him.

Shallowly he worried that it was the wrong thing to say and that Bokuto would be embarrassed by Keiji’s words, but he knew he had done the right thing when he watched the easy grin sprawl across Bokuto’s face in slow motion, cleaving his face in two. His eyes were darting around every inch of Keiji’s face as if he was the moon, as if he could look at him forever.

He looked the same way he did the first time Keiji told him he loved him.

 _It was like all of time stopped, just so I could spend a few seconds longer to look at her,_ Kazumi had said.

Goro looked between them for a moment, and then laughed.

“ _Boyfriend?”_ He started, and Keiji was nervous until he saw Goro shaking his head in disbelief, smiling. “My _god._ Your children are _fucked_ if they don’t like volleyball, can you imagine? God, Bokuto, always have something up your sleeve, don’t cha? _Boyfriend_. You do keep us on our toes.”

Bokuto laughed and it sounded so genuine, pulled from a carefree place in his belly that Keiji had finally had the courage to unlock so unbelievably and infectiously happy that Keiji couldn’t help but laugh along too.

This was a step. It was a good one.

“Don’t fuck it up Bokuto, you got a real looker there! One with a brain too, if his plays are anything to go off of!”

“Goodbye Goro!” Bokuto waved him off.

Keiji watched him go and a mountain of relief dropped from his shoulders.

Bokuto rounded on him, grinning. Keiji’s entire world narrowed down to just _him._ A weight dropped from his chest, an anchor that had been sitting there since he was fourteen and finally figuring out who he was.

“Boyfriend?” Bokuto asked. His eyes were crescent moons.

“Boyfriend.” Keiji agreed, but had to look away in embarrassment after a second. Bokuto didn’t turn away. His mother was waving at them, but Bokuto took a quick second to step closer to Keiji, to duck his head so Keiji had no choice but to look straight into his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, and Keiji could feel the tears pricking at the back of his eyelids.

How long had he been aching for someone to say those words to him?

Every part of him surged. He couldn’t help curling his fingers on Bokuto’s shoulder, pouring every piece of gratitude for the man in front of him into that small point of contact.

—-

It was no surprise that Bokuto was a groomsman considering it was his sisters wedding, which meant that he had been whisked away from Keiji’s side into absence as they all filed into the chapel.

“Here, have Yuna!” He had said as a man (he assumed the best man- Eichi’s brother?) pulled him away by the elbow, shifting his eight year old sister into Keiji’s arms. “I’ll be back soon!”

He hadn’t had time to ask Bokuto where he was going or what he should _do_ , so he stood alone with Yuna in the crowds of people for a second, likely looking as lost as he felt.

“Sorry about this, Yuna,” he said as he shifted the girl in his arms. “I don’t know where your mother is.”

“Are you really dating Koutarou?” She asked, looking at him with wide, owlish eyes. Her arms were wrapped trustingly around his neck, the way they had wrapped around Bokuto’s. He met her gaze.

“I am.” Then, after realising she was staring at him. “… is that okay?”

“I think you should have asked _me_ first, or he should have asked me. Someone should have asked _me.”_

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you, because I like you.” She grinned. One of her teeth was still missing. He smiled back, teeth intact, then looked back up to the crowd. People had begun to fill the chapel and he still couldn’t find Bokuto’s mother.

“Thank you.”

“Are you and Kou going to get married?”

Keiji nearly choked on his own breath. Yuna was looking at him, serious.

He wished that he had younger siblings or cousins so he had even some experience with children. He felt so incredibly inept, and so unequipped to hold a conversation with her.

“Uh, maybe one day.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe not tomorrow, Yuna. I think its a bit early.”

“He wants to marry _you,”_ she said, and suddenly she was passionate, raising her arms into the sky. Keiji lunged to keep his own wrapped around her. “I can tell from his _eyes!”_

“Akaashi!”

Bokuto’s mother was waving at him from the crowd, holding hands with both of Bokuto’s younger brothers Hibiki and Nori respectively. He eagerly walked towards her and they walked into the brick building together, Keiji trailing ever so slightly behind. As family of the bride they sat up front.

He had a moment in the quiet to examine the venue, which was expectedly stunning. There was a high ceiling of stone and intricate stained-glass windows on every wall, depicting various holy scenes in hues of red and yellow and green. It was lush and rustic simultaneously. The wooden benches were decorated with plush white pillows and pillars with small pink flowers lined the aisle.

Bokuto’s mother sat her two sons down together at the end of the row. Keiji gently tried to sit Yuna next to them, but she tightened her grip around his neck and tightly locked her legs around his back, effectively leeching herself to him.

“No, I want to sit with you, ‘Kaashi!” She yelled. Bokuto’s mother quickly came to pry her off before a tantrum ensued.

“Yuna, sit down, please! Leave Akaashi alone. Sit down next to your brother.”

“It’s okay,” Keiji interjected. He could already tell Yuna was on the verge of tears, and the last thing he wanted was her crying on her sisters wedding day. “She can sit with me.”

He sat down next to Bokuto’s mother and pulled her into his lap. She burrowed her head into his neck the same way she did to Bokuto, earlier, clingy (and tired if her soft breathing was anything to go by).

“I think she’s asleep,” Keiji said to Bokuto’s mother, who smiled.

“She didn’t want to come today,” she said, a knowing glint in her eye, a telling smile. Keiji couldn’t help but avert his eyes. “Probably better she sleeps now before she gets all irritable later.”

A loud noise echoed from the back of the chapel and they all turned to look as the wooden doors swung open, and a group of men walked in heralded by a man in an impeccable black tuxedo sporting the most fantastic beard Keiji had ever seen, with thick black glasses on the bridge of his nose and a red rose in his lapel.

Eichi, he presumed, and the groomsmen.

All of them filed in, laughing nervously and jabbing Eichi, who walked with a similar-looking man leading the group, until they lined up alongside the priest at the side of the room. The rest of the men had a white rose pinned to their blazers.

Bokuto was among them, laughing and skating his eyes around the crowds of people, searching. Keiji couldn’t rip his eyes away from him; he really did look so beautiful today. It was breathtaking. The scenarios ran rapid in his brain.

Then, from his place at the front, Bokuto’s eyes locked onto his own and a smile erupted on his face. Keiji waved carefully, afraid to jostle Yuna in his lap, and Bokuto waved back with such brilliant excitement you would think it was _him_ getting married.

“He is very handsome,” Bokuto’s mother smiled.

Keiji was instinctively embarrassed that she had noticed how enamoured he was with Bokuto’s smile. He still couldn’t look away. “He is,” he agreed.

“You look very nice today too, Akaashi,” she smiled.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san. As do you.”

“Please, call me Atsuko.”

A ball formed in his throat. He swallowed around it. “Atsuko.”

She paused for a moment, then smiled wide.

Bokuto had her smile. He could see it now; the way their top lip folded inward slightly, the gum just barely visible on the top row, the dimples.

She turned away from him to look at Bokuto again, who was now talking to one of the other groomsmen animatedly, flailing his hands all over the place as he told some unintelligible story.

“You know, Akaashi,” she started, smile just barely visible as she watched her son. “I know it isn’t my place to comment- you boys are free to do whatever you like with your lives without my input, so it doesn’t really matter- but I’m glad he chose you.”

Keiji pulled his bottom lip through his teeth.

“Thank you, Atsuko.” A formality.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

He laughed airily, a bundle of nerves alight. “I’m not entirely sure I want to know the answer.”

“Because you’re good. That’s what he needs, I think, above all else.”

She didn’t expand on that and Keiji didn’t ask her to.

It was enough. That one word, _good,_ was almost enough to incapacitate him. Not _perfect,_ not _smart._ Good. Something inherent, which can’t be learned.

It was how he always described Bokuto.

“I am a handful,” he said instead. “More than I think most people realise.”

She shook her head, laughing.

“Aren’t we all, my love?”

Before he could answer there was a weight in the seat next to him and Bokuto was excitedly whispering in his ear, _“it’s about to start.”_

Keiji reclined in his seat, clutching Yuna and daring to glance at Atsuko one more time out of the corner of his eye before the music started, before everybody’s eyes were pulled once again to the back of the room.

The flower girl and bridesmaids came out first- various girls dressed in pretty red dresses that Keiji didn’t recognise, and then Bokuto’s older sister Reina walked out, and Keiji had only ever seen her in photographs before. She had thick, square glasses on the bridge of her nose and messy black hair cropped to her shoulders. From what he had seen it usually was up in two plaits, but today she wore it curled, just brushing the tops of her collarbone as she walked, smiling. Her dress was also a dark red, though it glittered in the light in a way the other girls did not.

The music swelled, building a dam in Keiji’s chest to immediately fall, and the final two people walked out arm-in-arm.

Bokuto’s father Hiroki’s smile was well-worn and leathery, and today it was paired with tears in his eyes as he walked his firstborn down the aisle. In his arm she looked beautiful.

As in a picture Bokuto had shown him her hair was waist length and sleek-black, and her arms were covered in dark ink tattoos. Her smile was blinding. Bokuto Kumiko was stunning.

He had seen a preview of her dress but it didn’t compare to the reality of it- tight at the waist and trailing after her as she walked, glinting in the filtered sunlight, glittering like water at sunset.

She looked beautiful. He heard Bokuto laugh at his shoulder, but it sounded wet.

Hiroki said something as they reached the end of the aisle, whispering into her ear. She laughed, and then cried marvellously, and then wrapped her arms so tightly around her fathers neck that it looked like she might never let go.

A piece of Keiji celebrated. Another piece of him hurt.

Eichi was crying as she reached for his hands, and she smoothed away his tears with her fingertips. She rested their foreheads together and they laughed as one, and the priest began to recite the vows.

Keiji flickered his eyes to Bokuto and found him entirely transfixed, smiling with tears in his eyes as he watched his sister join hands with the person she would be with for the rest of eternity.

Keiji turned his gaze downward, swallowed for courage, and entwined Bokuto’s fingers in his own.

His palm was warm and rough against Keiji’s own, slightly sweaty and clammy and clutching back tightly like he never wanted to let go. Keiji remembered the first time they held hands like this, hidden under a blanket at Komi’s house, now in public. Because he wanted to.

He felt Bokuto’s eyes glance off of him. The small smile aimed at his shoulder burned through him like wildfire.

 _Why won’t you hold my hand, Keiji?_ Bokuto had asked him. Keiji clutched tighter. He ran his thumb along Bokuto’s knuckles.

When Eichi and Kumiko kissed he let his head drop to Bokuto’s shoulder. He smiled into it when he felt the kiss pressed into his hair.

—

“So _this_ is the elusive Akaashi-kun?” Kumiko grinned, dropping her clutches on her wedding dress to pull Bokuto in by the neck. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the two of you! I had to find out through _facebook!,_ Bo _”_

“We didn’t tell anyone!” Bokuto exclaimed, desperately grappling his sister to shove her arms off from around his neck. She didn’t budge. Reina laughed at her shoulder.

“Nice to meet you,” Keiji said quietly. Both girls looked up to meet his eyes. He side eyed Bokuto, nervous, in uncharted in waters. This was Bokuto’s _immediate_ family. He didn’t know what to say. “Bokuto talks about you a lot.”

“Oh?” Kumiko grinned. “ _Do you now?”_

“He’s lying!” Bokuto yelled. Finally he managed to escape from her chokehold, and Keiji was half worried the roughhousing would escalate. It seemed very characteristic of the Bokuto’s.

“I’m sorry we had to find out that way,” Reina said, solemn. She had changed out of her maid-of-honour Burgundy dress and now wore a very similar pantsuit, which was equally flattering on her, and she had pulled her hair back into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. “Bokuto told us about what happened.”

“The school are investigating it,” Keiji said. The topic seemed too sad to skirt around at a wedding so he eagerly searched to change the subject. “Did you bring a partner, Bokuto-san?”

“ _Reina,”_ she corrected, laughing. “Gosh, you _are_ polite. Nothing like Bokuto!” She grinned as Bokuto objected, not for the first time that day, and then answered his question with a nod. “I’ve brought my boyfriend. He’s probably off by the food table. I dunno.”

“This is her sixth boyfriend this year!!” Kumiko yelled in a stage-whisper. “They’ve been dating for like, two weeks!”

“I like to keep my options open,” Reina answered nonkcomittedly, examining her nails. They were long and red to match.

Kumiko laughed and gave Keiji a very serious look. “That’s her way of saying she’s a _whore-”_

Reina lunged at her and Kumiko went down laughing, now in the headlock that she had Bokuto in only moments beforehand. Bokuto took this as his escape and rushed to stand at Keiji’s elbow.

“I think the speeches are starting soon,” he said.

“ _Bye Akaashi-kun!”_ The girls yelled as Bokuto whisked him away. Keiji eyed Bokuto nervously.

“They sure are…” he searched for the word. “… energetic.”

“Kumiko’s stronger than she looks! I thought I was about to _die,_ Keiji. You didn’t even try to save me!” He pouted. “You _would_ save me right?”

Keiji’s lips quirked upward at the use of his given name. Bokuto must have noticed because he grinned too.

There was a clink of a glass as they found their seats towards the edge of the room. Hiroki stood up from where he sat next to Kumiko at the centremost table. Atsuko was there too, as were Eichi and (Keiji assumed) his mother, father nowhere to be seen.

Hiroki smiled at the crowd; Kumiko smiled at her dad. He turned back to the crowds of people with a glass of champagne raised high above his head, glinting in the light of the quickly setting sun.

“Thank you all for coming tonight, I’d just like to start. There are so many people. I had no idea Kumiko was this popular!”

Everybody laughed. Keiji could feel the vibrations from Bokuto rippling through where they touched at the shoulder.

“This is a happy day, and one I have been looking forward to for such a long time I cannot even begin to explain- the first of all my children to get married. I think _every_ parent looks forward to this day. Eichi, Kumiko could not have picked a better man than you. Somebody who can love her through thick and thin, someone who our family has turned to many times and you have never disappointed. Thank you for being there for her- for _all_ of us. I welcome you and your family into ours with wide and warm welcome arms.”

All Keiji could think as he watched Bokuto from the corner of his eye was: _this could be us, one day._ Bokuto cheered. Keiji smiled and dragged his eyes back to Hiroki. 

“It has not always been easy,” Hiroki said, and his voice finally took on a more somber tone. “But love is not about what is easy. It is about the ups and the downs, about learning and overcoming and growing _together. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’_ Any fool can succumb to infatuation, but relationships need to be build upon trust, and giving, and a willingness to _try_ above all else. Life has been tough for us all, and I know Kumiko has not had it easy these last few years.” He paused and Keiji saw the conflicting expression flicker across his face as he locked eyes with Kumiko. “We lost my son, Kumiko’s brother Shinjiro, four years ago, and anyone who knows us will know how greatly his disappearance has affected our family. His presence is especially noted today. Kumiko and Eichi, I know he would be _so_ proud of how far you two have come.”

Kumiko reached for her fathers hand above the table. She said something to him that nobody else could hear.

Keiji slipped his hand back into Bokuto’s, squeezing the palm gently in reassurance. It was the easiest thing to do now that he had already done it. Bokuto rubbed his thumb along Keiji’s fingers.

“Today we celebrate the triumph that comes at the end of that long and confusing road. Today is a day of love, and remembrance, and a reminder that life always, _always_ gets better.”

Hiroki laughed. “But enough about that. Eichi, we are so, so glad to welcome you into our wild and wacky family, and I know the whole room can join me in wishing you and my daughter a long and lasting marriage. Nobody deserves it more than you two.”

The room erupted in cheers. Keiji clapped along.

The sun dipped away into the hills on the valley, the last dregs of light filtering in through the windows as the evening crept into the sky. The music emanating from the speakers started with upbeat songs which all of the Bokutos danced to together, holding hands and jumping and screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Keiji elected to sit on the sidelines and watch as Koutarou smiled wider than he had seen in weeks, vandalism and fighting long forgotten, laugh after laugh wrenching from somewhere deep in his gut. Every now and again he would turn to Keiji and sing the words to him from across the room, and Keiji would laugh along, aware of how unbelievably lucky he was to be here with him in this moment after everything.

And as the evening crawled across the sky the music gradually softened to match, playing gentler lullabies and echos of ballads as couples pulled eachother onto the dance floor, nestling their faces in one another’s necks as they waltzed around in lazy circles. Keiji spotted Kumiko being spun in the centre of the floor by her father, who had long discarded his suit jacket and was laughing so loud Keiji could hear it from where he sat by the wall. A first dance with her father. It was stupid, and he _knew_ it was, but when he pictured this day fir himself he always envisioned his parents there too. Watching Hiroki spin Kumiko, Keiji longed for his dad.

Bokuto had been dancing all night and his hair was beginning to wear through the gel, a sheen glistening along his forehead which the strands stuck to and a smile stretching his face in two the same way it did when he hit a particularly impressive spike, the way he looked after winning a game at nationals. Keiji couldn’t tear his eyes away as Bokuto waltzed exaggeratedly with his sisters, holding Yuna’s little hands in his own as he spun her around and around and around. Every now and again he would get tired and flop into the chair beside Keiji’s and beam a smile in his direction as he begged Keiji to come dance the Macarena with him, rubbing their fingers together every time he left because Keiji wasn’t comfortable with the idea of kissing in public just yet.

Bokuto flopped into the seat beside him again, panting heavily and Yuna ran off to one of her sisters to beg a dance now that Bokuto had left. He rested his head on his arms over the back of the chair as he gazed at Keiji, who’s eyes hadn’t left him for the night.

“I never took you for a dancer, Bokuto,” he teased. Bokuto stuck his tongue out.

“More fool you, ‘Kaashi. There isn’t anything I can’t do!”

“Hmm, I’m not sure about that. Your cha cha slide wasn’t the most refined.”

Bokuto’s mouth gaped. For a second he looked genuinely offended, so Keiji tilted his head. “Kidding.”

“You are so lucky, ‘Kaashi.”

“Oh, I am?”

“Lucky I love you so much. Or I would have had to fight you! Or dance battled you, maybe, and we all know who would have won that!”

Keiji grinned. A breathy laugh escaped his lungs and he shook his head softly. He couldn’t help but flick his eyes down to Bokuto’s lips.

The next song came on- one he quite liked, and knew the words to, and was a slow one to break up the influx of cheesy pop songs. Keiji couldn’t help but mouth along to the words.

The mood shifted around him visibly. Children ran off the dance floor as couples flooded it. Everything was quieter, lovelier.

“You like this song?” Bokuto asked, but before Keiji could answer Bokuto reached his conclusion. “It’s Frank Sinatra, I _know_ you like it.”

Keiji smiled. Sinatra was one of his favourites, and it made him happy to know Bokuto remembered that small detail he know he must have only mentioned in passing.

 _When somebody loves you, it’s no good unless he loves you,_ Keiji mouthed along, _all the way._

The girls on the floor wrapped their arms around their lovers necks. The moonlight glinted off of the polished tiled flooring, their red dresses sweeping the floor.

Bokuto stood up suddenly, and then he was in front of Keiji, eyebrows drawn together in apprehension, hand extended towards him. Keiji looked up to his eyes.

“Dance with me?” He asked.

Keiji’s eyes darted back to the dance floor. Bokuto’s mother and father were forehead to forehead, swaying gently from side to side. He looked back to Bokuto, down to his outstretched hand, back up to his hopeful eyes.

Keiji was staring at his eyelashes, staring at his lips. He loved and he wanted.

“Bokuto, are you sure that’s … appropriate?”

He didn’t want to come off too much. It was already a miracle in his mind that nobody minded the handholding, the gentle touches.

Bokuto smiled softly. “My sisters dancing with _her_ boyfriend.”

Keiji could just make them out in the dim light; Reina, laughing as her boyfriend dipped her, picked her back up and spun her in circles too fast for the songs slow, romantic tempo.

How many more chances would he get like this?

Keiji was not a dancer, but Bokuto was.

Against all better judgement he carefully placed his hand in Bokuto’s, allowing himself to be pulled closer to the centre of the room, away from the outskirts and into the light. He couldn’t run here. He couldn’t hide.

Bokuto kept one of his hands entwined loosely with Keiji’s, the other wrapping around to the small of his back, pulling him close until their chests touched, until Bokuto’s face was mere inches from his own. He could feel Bokuto’s soft breaths against his own. As the music called for it they started to sway. The nerves flared up at the back of Keiji’s neck.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed in a whisper. Anything else felt too loud. Bokuto smiled, though Keiji could see he was nervous too.

“Neither do I.” Keiji smiled.

 _When somebody needs you, it’s no good unless he needs you,_ Keiji mouthed along. Bokuto’s eyes were glued to his lips. _All the way._

“Shinjiro loved Sinatra,” Bokuto admitted. Keiji could feel the stutter in his chest against his own as his eyebrows drew together, as the happy and sad connotations of the song competed. “I really wish he was here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bokuto offered a smile. Then he raised his arm and Keiji followed the lead to let himself be spun, drawing back into Bokuto’s chest immediately, breathless, gently giggling.

“I’m so glad I came today,” he smiled. Slowly he lowered his head to Bokuto’s chest. He felt the deep intake of breath against his skin more than he heard it. His eyes fluttered closed.

He didn’t need to see what was happening. He trusted Bokuto wouldn’t lead him astray.

“I’m so glad you came too. I really wanted you here.”

“Koutarou, I don’t know if I’ve told you before,” the song was pulling honest words from his chest. He could feel Bokuto’s hand rubbing the small of his back. “But my life is so much better with you in it.”

“Keiji…”

“I really, really love you. More than I should be able to. I don’t say it to you enough.”

_Who knows where the road will lead us? Only a fool could say._

“I love you too. So, so much.”

_But if you’ll let me love you._

Keiji smiled. For once he could feel the truth in Bokuto’s words through his thick haze of self judgement. For a moment it really felt like everything was on the verge of _better._ “I know.”

Kazumi’s sad smile through tears flashed in his mind, fleeting and fatal. The somber way he eyed Keiji’s suit- it was Kazumi’s size too, after all.

_It’s for sure I’m gonna love you all the way._

Bokuto spun him again. Keiji never wanted the song to end- he wanted to exist here in this moment with Bokuto for ever.

_All the way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god,,, so this chapter is literally twice the length of a regular chapter im so SORRY, just in time for christmas :'))
> 
> This chapter means a lot to me and is the real backbone behind this whole story existing- the song from the beginning note is the main reason I wrote this story. The first scene of this chapter is my favourite in the whole story, and the last is the one i have always envisioned everything building up to.
> 
> Anyways ,, i hope everyone who celebrates it has a good christmas :)) there may not be another update until after the new year, but this story is gradually, gradually coming to a close :) a huge HUGE thank you to everyone who has stuck around, who has given this story that means everything to me a chance. <3


	21. wide-eyed wanderer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from moonlight to dewdrops  
> dancing 'round until the morning sunlight came  
> when the sun had reached the sky  
> we almost wished that we would die  
> so we'd never have to see this moment's end
> 
> -on and on, thirdstory
> 
> (warning - this chapter is NSFW. if that isn't your thing, the chapter can be skipped :) )

“This is my favourite movie,” Bokuto grinned, bouncing on his folded legs, jiggling the laptop up and down where it rested across their joined thighs.

“I know,” Keiji said.

“I’m so excited. Oh man, I might cry. Not now,” Bokuto clarified, “just at the sad bits.”

“Isn’t it sad, like, five minutes in?”

“It is,” he nodded solemnly. Keiji leaned so his head was on Bokuto’s shoulder, so close that he could smell the faint lingering scent of Bokuto’s aftershave, until Bokuto unknotted his folded legs and tangled them in Keiji’s instead.

“Do you want some blanket?” Bokuto offered a corner of the duvet to Keiji, as if it was his blanket and not from Keiji’s own bed.

“No thank you, I’ll fall asleep if you give me that.”

“‘Kaashi, you can’t fall asleep during the film! Then I’ll be crying _alone_.”

“What makes you think I’m going to cry with you?”

“Only heartless people don’t cry at Up, and you’ve got the biggest heart I know!”

Keiji flicked the light off after a moment of contemplation and crawled back to lay beside Bokuto.

“I’m not going to cry,” Keiji assured.

“Whatever you say.”

Keiji _didn’t_ cry at Ellie’s death, but he could definitely hear Bokuto’s sniffles in the dark and mindlessly pressed a kiss to his jaw, nestling his head back under Bokuto’s chin. It _was_ a sad film. He needed the comfort, he reasoned.

Keiji always worried about the repercussions of bringing Bokuto into his home. It was unlikely that he would get caught doing so given how little his parents were ever home, added to the fact they never entered Keiji’s room and were now even more apprehensive to see their son roaming the halls, and so rarely left their rooms or studies when they _were_ here. It was easier for them to just pretend Keiji didn’t occupy space in their home. Keiji pretended he didn’t either.

Kazumi was the only one who knew about Bokuto’s constant presence in the house and didn’t seem to care in the slightest; though now that Keiji knew about his and Arisu’s breakup he wondered if it hurt him to see Keiji bringing Bokuto into his bedroom, even if it _was_ just to watch cartoon films and snuggle above blankets.

When Doug the Dog appeared Bokuto perked up and excitedly pointed at the screen in the dark.

“He’s my favourite!” He whispered loudly. Keiji could feel the words vibrating against his cheek on Bokuto’s chest.

“He’s mine too. Actually no, I like Carl.”

“You _would_ like Carl.”

“He’s a good character!” Keiji defended.

Bokuto thought for a second, but then nodded in agreement. “He is.”

“Your favourite _would_ be the dog,” Keiji countered.

“I like dogs!”

That was the understatement of the year, but made complete sense- Bokuto being a giant golden retriever of a boy himself.

Before he knew it the credits were rolling and the ending music was pulsing quietly through Keiji’s room. At some point Keiji had curled up with his head in Bokuto’s lap, the laptop pushed further down his legs so they could both see, and Bokuto’s fingers were gently carding through Keiji’s unkempt curls.

Neither of them moved to get the lights. Keiji wanted to stay here forever, warm, as Bokuto’s fingers gently stroked his scalp, smoothing out stray hairs from his face. He spared himself an ounce of movement, and only so he could turn to his back to watch Bokuto’s face above him. His gaze was soft, his golden eyes wide in the dim light. Keiji ached to reach up. The corners of his mouth sloped upward so gently that Keiji thought the subtle breeze might shift them.

“You’re really beautiful,” Keiji said involuntarily, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his control. Though he would have said them even if he _could_ control himself. It was something that was on his mind more than should be reasonable.

Bokuto’s eyes widened and his cheeks coloured pink. “Not as beautiful as you!”

“Thats not true.”

With courage he raised his hand until his fingers trailed Bokuto’s jaw. Bokuto inhaled sharply through his jaw as Keiji ran the pad of his thumb along his ear, dragging it gracefully back down and over Bokuto’s bottom lip. It rested there for a moment, Keiji rubbing back and forth slightly to feel Bokuto’s breath careful against it, until Bokuto opened his lips slightly and pulled Keiji’s thumb into his mouth. Suddenly everything was hot, and Bokuto didn’t break eye contact as he kept Keiji’s thumb there, surrounded on every side by the heat of his saliva. Keiji didn’t pull away either.

Immediately a flush of _want_ flurried straight to his gut, pooling. Liquid heat. Thoughts ceased to enter his head. All he could focus on was the point of contacts between them; Bokuto’s fingers still tangled in his hair, his thumb wet in Bokuto’s mouth, his head on Bokuto’s lap, cushioned against the top of his thighs, his _dick._

Then Bokuto began to suck on it lightly. Keiji clenched his mouth shut as Bokuto used his teeth to pull the digit in deeper, and Keiji couldn’t stop himself. Involuntarily he sat up and pulled his thumb out of Bokuto’s mouth, hyperaware of the strands of spit following it, replacing it with his desperate mouth. Bokuto’s hands were already tangled in his hair and he fisted tighter. Keiji pressed the spit-soaked digit to Bokuto’s cheek as he clutched onto his jaw, desperate to pull him closer.

“Mmm,” Bokuto hummed as Keiji ran his tongue along his bottom lip. Keiji could feel Bokuto’s positive reaction in the tightening hands in his hair. Their tongues met and Bokuto gasped into his open mouth. Keiji swallowed the noise greedily.

He was starved of these Bokuto moments- the ones where Bokuto was needy and wanting. They were so far and few between that he couldn’t help but gulp them down, pushing for more and more and _more_ , an ignited fire glowing deep in his stomach.

He had Bokuto crowded against the headboard, softened by the up-push of pillows created by their rush of movement, warmth at his mouth, under his hands which were now trailing down, gripping onto Bokuto’s biceps as if he needed them to survive and effectively flattening their bodies together, rested between the valleys of Bokuto’s thighs.

When he moved his open mouth to the plane of Bokuto’s jaw, licking and kissing his way down the column of his throat, Bokuto moaned languidly, tightening the grip in Keiji’s hair until he was pulled back and suspended by it, lips just barely kissing the skin at his collarbone.

“Akaashi,” he whispered, practically _panted_ into the space between them. “Keiji.”

“Koutarou.”

Bokuto’s eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes casting spidery shadows on his flushed cheekbones as his eyebrows upturned. Then Bokuto’s biceps tensed underneath Keiji’s fingers and he was suddenly lying on his back, Bokuto now holding himself above centimetres above Keiji. Keiji couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his arms bulged with the effort, and couldn’t help the way his hands instinctively clutched to Bokuto’s back as Bokuto pressed a desperate kiss to his open mouth. He was pressed deeply into the mattress caged under Bokuto’s broad body. His thighs tightened around Bokuto’s hips.

“ _Keiji,”_ he moaned into the shell of Keiji’s ear. It went straight to his dick, which was rapidly hardening against his thigh as Bokuto pressed ever closer.

He licked into Bokuto’s mouth and could feel the response travel down his throat. Bokuto’s muscles shifted under his hands, so Keiji ducked them under the hem of his shirt to feel as they worked- a physical response to Keiji’s mouth, to his trailing fingertips, to the incessant canting of his hips. When he tried to pull the shirt above Bokuto’s head they struggled because neither of them wanted to break from the heated kiss. Bokuto sat back and pulled it over his head with eagerness, tossing it to the floor. He didn’t break eye contact with Keiji. His chest was heaving the way it does after a volleyball match.

Seeing Bokuto up close like this was still unfamiliar. His hands yearned to be touching all of the newly exposed skin, and so he did, pulling Bokuto back down on top of him as quickly as he could. As much as he wanted to look, he wanted to touch _more_.

He was desperate, and needy, and it was so deathly embarrassing but Bokuto was too- he could feel it pressed against his stomach. Something about not being the only one so clearly wanting made it easier.

When Bokuto began to suck lightly on Keiji’s collarbone a breathy noise escaped from his throat. When Bokuto slipped his hands under Keiji’s shirt and rested his palms flat on his stomach he looked up to Keiji’s eyes before continuing.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, and Keiji was reminded of all the previous times they had gotten heated. The amount of times he had removed his shirt in front of Bokuto could be counted on one hand. “Please?”

“Yes,” he said, the _please_ increasing the tension in Keiji’s body noticeably.

 _Please._ He wanted to hear Bokuto to say that again. He didn’t know that was something he was into.

Squinting in the dim light he saw the happy grin stretch across Bokuto’s face as he gently slid the material upward. Keiji helped him to pull the shirt the rest of the way off and discarded it with an amount of care similar to what Bokuto showed earlier. Bokuto only had a second to stare before Keiji, equal parts embarrassed and desperate, pulled him down by the neck.

Kissing with exposed skin felt entirely different. It was hotter. It was harder for him to pull away from Bokuto’s lips, to tell him to stop as he kissed his way down Keiji’s stomach, hands grasping for anywhere they could reach, nails lightly scratching lines up Bokuto’s toned, broad back.

When he reached the spot below Keiji’s bellybutton (a favourite spot of Bokuto’s, for some reason. Perhaps because of the infrequency of which he saw it.) Keiji reached a decision.

Fingers already tightly gripped in Bokuto’s hair he pulled him away from his stomach with a wet _pop._ Bokuto’s lips were glistening with spit and the arousal building in him was becoming near unbearable. He _wanted._

Sitting up slightly he began to slide down his jeans. Bokuto’s eyes were glued to his hands and the new reveals of skin, of _thigh,_ that he had only ever seen in passing, to the shape of Keiji’s full erection through the thin material of his underwear.

“Holy shit,” Bokuto whispered his name like a prayer, and Keiji could feel the fanning of breath over the intimate skin. “ _Keiji_.”

And then Bokuto was climbing out of his trousers too. They joined the abandoned pile of clothes on the floor.

Keiji’s mouth was dry from looking at him. His legs were long and pale, thick with ropes of muscle bulging as he leaned over Keiji, newly nervous, pushed up on his knees and muscular thighs straining with the effort. Bokuto’s cock was hard in his underwear- Keiji was too nervous to look, but too needy to look away. His skin was glistening with sweat.

When Bokuto leaned over him again, kissing deep into Keiji’s mouth, everything was electrified and new. Everywhere he touched was skin. Their bare thighs and calves twined together and he could feel Bokuto’s dick against his own, separated by only a layer of thin fabric, gasped into Bokuto’s mouth as the friction sent electric waves through his body. He could barely keep his mouth on Bokuto’s. He was senselessly turned on. He _ached_ for it.

Bokuto pulled back from Keiji’s mouth, dazed. Keiji chased his lips.

“Are we going to have sex?” Bokuto blurted. He sounded nervous.

Keiji’s eyes widened. His legs tightened around Bokuto’s involuntarily. The word _sex_ went straight to his dick. “Do you want to?”

“Is anyone else home?”

“Kazumi,” Keiji said, because Kazumi was downstairs in their living room watching crappy sci-fi film reruns and eating burnt microwave popcorn. “He won’t come in though. He doesn’t care.” He sounded breathier than he wanted to admit.

“I’m going to be loud, probably.” Bokuto admitted. “And I’ve never done this before. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I,” Keiji laughed, and then he realised how nervous he was now that his thoughts were catching up to his body. “I’m really nervous.”

“It’s probably going to be bad,” Bokuto said. Somewhere next to Keiji’s head he twined their hands together, holding himself up on the other arm.

“That’s okay,” Keiji said. Then, honestly, again, “I want to, I think.”

Bokuto’s eyes glowed like lanterns, or the sun. “I really, _really_ want to.”

Again Bokuto was tying his stomach in knots, setting his nerve endings alight.

Keiji pressed their lips together again but the desperation from earlier was no longer there, replaced by shaky hands led by clearly nervous movements.

Unlike earlier, now that they _knew_ every movement was leading to sex neither of them particularly wanted to rush.

Keiji pulled back. Arousal and nerves were competing inside of him.

 _This is the unknown. I have no idea what’s going to happen here._ The unknown wasn’t a place he ever wanted to be.

“Keiji?” Bokuto asked. He pressed a kiss to Keiji’s cheek. To the shell of his ear.

“I’m really nervous,” he admitted again. His hands were twitching in Bokuto’s hair. He needed to count so he did, rubbing Bokuto’s hair and counting the strokes. _One, two, three, four._

“That’s okay, I am too!” Bokuto grinned. His eyes softened. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s just me. But if you want to stop at anytime we can.”

 _One, two, three, four._ “Okay.”

Bokuto smiled slightly and traced his thumb down Keiji’s cheek. Then, abruptly, he sat back on his shins. “Maybe we should put some music on. It’s too quiet, I think.”

“Okay,” Keiji said and moved until he was sitting up on his elbows. His eyes followed Bokuto’s body as he stood and crossed Keiji’s room, and realised how badly he loved Bokuto’s back profile, how unbearably sexy he was when he was nearly completely undressed. From here Keiji could see the muscles of his back, the broad shoulders, the swell of his ass and the way his thighs shifted as he walked over to Keiji’s desk to retrieve his phone. Watching Bokuto _walk_ shouldn’t make him feel as hot as it did.

Keiji fumbled for the light of the dim lamp beside the bed. Bokuto asked him, “What should I put on?”

He hadn’t thought about that. “I’m not sure.” He paused. “Something romantic, I guess?”

Bokuto thought for a second.

The first few beats of the song began. Keiji struggled for a second to place it, but when he did his chest tightened.

Now a third emotion battled to dominate the other two.

Hysteria.

“Oh my god, Koutarou, is this _The Lion King?”_

Bokuto’s cheeks flushed. “It’s romantic!”

Laughter bubbled in Keiji’s chest, escaping through his hands in fits of giggles. Bokuto crossed his arms defensively. Pumba crooned romantically to them through the sound of Bokuto’s shitty phone speaker.

“I love you,” Keiji said through the laughter. “I love you so much.”

“I can put something else on-” Bokuto started, pouting, but Keiji shook his head quickly and beckoned with his arms for Bokuto to join him on the bed.

“No, it’s fine. Just- come back.”

Bokuto obliged and crawled up the length of the bed until his body covered Keiji once again. Keiji kissed him, but this time he could feel the impression of Bokuto’s grin on his lips. It made everything so much better- the music just proved that this was his Bokuto, who he loved and laughed with and trusted himself with more than anybody else.

His hips bucked up without him meaning to, grinding himself against Bokuto’s front and gasping when their clothes erections brushed. Bokuto ripped his mouth from Keiji’s and kissed down his front again, this time tentatively brushing his tongue across Keiji’s nipple. He gasped and held Bokuto’s head in place and Bokuto did it again, laving his tongue back and forth along the bud and gently sucking it into his mouth.

As soon as he pulled his mouth away Keiji flipped them until he was back on top, the way this had all started out. He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down Bokuto’s front, relishing in the way Bokuto gripped his hair in his hands and pulled, in the gasps he solicited with his tongue.

When he reached the slight pudge at Bokuto’s stomach he pressed a final lingering kiss, curling his fingers around Bokuto’s thighs as they tightened around his back, and flickered his gaze up to Bokuto’s.

There was a question in his eyes. He verbalised it, anyway. “Can I?”

Bokuto took a second to answer, clearly nervous, but nodded his head. Keiji smiled up at him, and then turned his gaze back downwards, focusing his breathing.

“Just… go slow, okay?”

This was further than they had ever gone. Without thinking he laced their hands together and rested them atop Bokuto’s thigh, smiling gently up at him. His spine was alight with nerves, with not knowing what to do, but Bokuto’s patient smile and calming grip on his hair kept his mind from wandering too far. He pressed a final chaste kiss to the skin below Bokuto’s stomach and then, with nervous fingers, tugged down Bokuto’s underwear.

When Bokuto’s cock was freed, flushed and hard and leaking precome onto his stomach, Keiji knew everything was ruined for him, because he would never be able to think about anything but this moment for the rest of his life. It was destroying. It was beautiful, and it made him wet his lips in anticipation. He wanted to commit this part of Bokuto that only he gets to see to memory. Like every other part of Bokuto it was beautiful, and Keiji wanted to put his mouth to it.

Bokuto squirmed beneath him and suddenly their hands were no longer tangled. When Keiji looked back up he saw Bokuto had hidden his face behind them.

“Koutarou?” Keiji asked, but his voice was hoarse.

He had never wanted to touch Bokuto so badly before. Every inch of him throbbed in anticipation.

“This is so embarrassing,” Bokuto said, hands still shielding his eyes from Keiji’s. It didn’t hide the flush creeping up his neck, and Keiji got an odd thrill from knowing Bokuto was more exposed than he was. He rested his head on Bokuto’s thigh.

“Show me your face.”

“No,” Bokuto argued, strained.

Keiji kept his eyes on Bokuto to watch for his reaction. Slowly, and without entirely knowing what he was doing, he touched his fingers to the base of Bokuto’s dick.

Bokuto shivered at the contact, but Keiji was after something else. Without thinking he pressed his tongue to the head.

This time Bokuto moaned, loud and fluid, and his chest flushed as he bucked his hips into the warmth of Keiji’s mouth.

When Keiji licked a tentative stripe up the underside of Bokuto’s dick he moaned again, and the hands flew from hiding his face to burying themselves in Keiji’s hair, holding his head in away from his dick in a position where his tongue could no longer reach.

“ _Keiji_ ,” he panted. His face was red and his eyes blinking heavily. “This isn’t fair.”

“I think it is,” Keiji replied, and then took as much of Bokuto’s dick into his mouth that he could. Bokuto moaned loudly, back arching.

He didn’t really know what he was doing, and when he tried to go deeper he gagged. He sucked lightly on the head, grasping onto Bokuto’s thighs as he went down, coating everything in as much spit as possible.

He bobbed his head the way he had seen in porn, but his jaw ached and his teeth scraped the top of Bokuto’s dick with the motion, causing Bokuto to hiss below him. Keiji snatched his head back immediately, a string of spit connecting running down his chin and connecting him to Bokuto’s dick. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Bokuto assured him, smiling and breathing heavily. “You’re doing really, really well.”

The praise caught him off guard, as did the way it nearly pulled a moan from his lungs. His eyes widened and he quickly hid his face between Bokuto’s thighs.

He licked a stripe up the underside of Bokuto’s cock, causing him to shudder as Keiji lightly peppered kisses up the top. Bokuto was a moaning mess above him and he couldn’t seem to find a place to comfortably keep his hands, moving them from Keiji’s hair, to grasping the bedsheets, to covering his face. Spurred by the movement Keiji shifted his hands from underneath Bokuto’s thighs to his hips, which was when he felt the prominent and unfamiliar ridges below his fingertips. Curiously he pulled his head back so he could get a better look.

Bokuto breathed heavily, chest heaving and eyes clenched closed. Keiji watched his eyelashes flutter and Bokuto’s eyes fix on him, golden and hazy.

“You’ve got stretch marks,” Keiji pointed out, running a fingertip along one of the deeper ones, a red tissue crevice on his hip. To his surprise Bokuto shifted his gaze away.

“I know,” he said, but his tone sounded uncertain. “I don’t like them.”

“You don’t?” Keiji asked.

Bokuto shook his head. Keiji’s heart grew seven sizes.

He never imagined Bokuto to be insecure of his body. Keiji ran his fingers along the scars again, a mixture of shallow silvery ones and more prominent pink ones, and then pressed his lips to them. They were textured beneath his mouth, ridged and uneven, and he pressed chaste kiss after chaste kiss to them in turn, working his way over Bokuto’s hips to the tops of his thighs, where they were the deepest.

“Keiji,” Bokuto said, somewhere between a breathy moan and reverent prayer. Keiji didn’t stop.

Bokuto’s hands in his hair were more insistent this time when he pulled Keiji’s head up to look at him. His expression was complicated as he pulled Keiji to his mouth (and oh god, Keiji was reminded of just how undressed they were) and kissed him deeply.

Bokuto rolled them over so he was on top again and gradually shifted his weight down Keiji’s body until his fingers hooked at the waistband. He didn’t pull them down any further until he glanced up and saw Keiji’s hesitant nod.

Suddenly Keiji was the nervous one as Bokuto pressed a kiss to his thigh, as he pulled the thin material down and off from around Keiji’s legs. Bokuto breathed heavily, staring, while Keiji stared at _him._

It was scary, being this open with a person when he had never been this vulnerable before. But he trusted Bokuto. There was nobody else in the world he trusted to do this with _but_ Bokuto. When Bokuto curled his fingers gently around his dick he gasped and thrust up into his hand.

“Keiji,” Bokuto moaned as he slowly worked Keiji’s dick, and the combination of his voice _and_ his touch was so mind blowing Keiji was worried about coming _now, mere_ seconds after being touched. “Oh _fuck_ , Keiji.”

The swear word was attractive. Bokuto so rarely swore that it seemed more important when he did.

Being touched felt so good- much better than touching himself. All he could think was _god, why didn’t we do this sooner?_

He thrust up into the motion again and now Bokuto’s small smile was aimed at him, and Keiji couldn’t get over the thought that he would _die_ if he made eye contact right now.

“Does that feel good?” Bokuto asked tentative, unsure.

Keiji nodded, sweating and flushed against the bedsheet, and now Bokuto’s smile was wide and genuine. He turned his attention back to Keiji’s dick, which he continued to rub and stroke.

“Good. This is how I touch myself,” he said, and Keiji’s heart stuttered in his chest. His entire body had been set alight. “How I touch myself when I think of you.”

Keiji moaned, his first proper one of the night and Bokuto’s eyes shot to him, hand slowing as Keiji pushed himself upright, moving until he was practically in Bokuto’s lap.

 _God,_ when did Bokuto think of him, touching himself like this? In bed, late at night? Maybe in the shower. Maybe in _Keiji’s_ shower, a room away. His mind was running rapid. He needed this _now,_ before his mind evaporated entirely, before he was nothing but a pooling mess in Bokuto’s hands.

Bokuto twisted his fingers around him, and Keiji moved his arms around Bokuto’s shoulders, pulling their chests together and tightening his thighs around Bokuto’s. He could feel himself unravelling in Bokuto’s grip. Bokuto breathed into his mouth and then, unforgivably, he pulled back until he and Keiji were no longer joined.

“Wait,” he said quickly as Keiji chased his lips. Keiji pulled back at once, tracing his thumb along Bokuto’s ear. He had started to sweat, and the hair around it was curling slightly.

“Is everything alright?”

“I just realised- do you have … anything?”

“Anything?” Keiji echoed.

“You know,” Bokuto emphasised, and then his eyes flitted away from Keiji’s face. He couldn’t look at him while saying it. “ _Protection._ And other stuff.”

“Oh,” he sat back further on Bokuto’s thighs. “No, I don’t.”

He hadn’t thought to get anything. The idea of he and Bokuto having sex had been some far off thought, distant enough that Keiji hadn’t really considered the logistics of having it outside his avid fantasies.

“Sorry,” he apologised, suddenly aware of how mood-ruining it was. They were both flushed and panting and hard and _ready,_ and _he_ wasn’t prepared. “Sorry, I didn’t think-”

“It’s okay!” Bokuto rushed to say, pressing a quick and chaste kiss to Keiji’s mouth, followed by another lingering one before dropping his voice. “There are still other things we can do.”

He kissed deeply into Keiji’s mouth and shifted him in his lap until Keiji was flush with his body again, until the arms he had wrapped around Keiji’s back seared their flesh together. Carefully he leaned forward, and then Keiji was laying on the bed.

Sex had a lot more moving than Keiji thought there would be. He always imagined losing his virginity to be stiff and stagnant, rather than this fluid, constant motion. Then, Keiji wondered, _how do I know when I’ve lost my virginity?_ Because he felt like he lost it the second he wrapped his lips around Bokuto, but maybe he hadn’t. And then he thought, _you’re thinking too much._

A hand snaked between their bodies and Bokuto’s knees were pressed slightly into the mattress, and his hand was wrapped around both of their cocks and he was stroking them simultaneously, _together._ Keiji gasped at the contact.

“Shit,” he couldn’t help but say, eyes rolling to a close, moving until his forehead was pressed against Bokuto’s.

Bokuto moaned again. It was loud, and Keiji was alive just to hear that coveted sound. He longed to see Bokuto wanting above him and forced his eyes open.

It was like squinting so you could look directly into the sun, like the focusing of of a camera at a candle in the dark. Bokuto, in this moment, was the centre of everything. His forehead was sweaty and lone pieces of his hair were sticking to it. His eyes weren’t looking at Keiji but down to the space where he held their dicks, and there was a faint crease in-between his eyebrows that showed he was concentrated, focused in a way that never usually came naturally to him. _He’s trying to make this good._ Keiji’s thighs tightened.

If he could only remember one moment for the rest of his life, Keiji thought he might choose the way Bokuto looks right now. The shitty Disney music in the background, the fumbling but determined way Bokuto pressed them together, the laughing, the sound of his moans stretching between them, the coiled muscles of his back, the stretch marks. The parts of Bokuto nobody got to see but him.

A quiet moan erupted from his chest as Bokuto rubbed them together, Bokuto’s hand quickening in response, followed by an echoing moan. Bokuto was _much_ louder than him in bed, it seemed. Another piece of information Keiji filed away.

He was _so_ close. Everything was so hot and sticky as they moved in tandem.

“ _Keiji,”_ Bokuto groaned, rutting his hips. “I’m so close.”

Keiji ran his fingers through Bokuto’s sweaty hair. He put their mouths together and Bokuto moaned into his lungs, filling him.

Bokuto moved his hips with his hand and Keiji couldn’t help canting into it, too. He was so desperate, he was _so close._ He was so sensitive to Bokuto’s touch.

“Koutarou,” he whined, and Bokuto tightened around him.

Bokuto came, moaning and struggling to hold himself up on his arms, thick and spilling onto Keiji’s stomach. His hand didn’t slow down, stroking them both through it until Keiji felt his orgasm ripple out of him too, hot and electric and a direct response to knowing Bokuto had come, too. He pulled Bokuto until their chests were flushed as cum spilled between them, panting as his chest struggled to find breath. He couldn’t breathe. Bokuto collapsed on top of him.

It was hot, and _sticky,_ and Keiji was so in love he thought he would burst with it. They panted together. His stomach was warm with their cum, Bokuto’s sweaty hair tickled his chin.

A laugh built its way up inside him, spilling out in quiet giggles out of his mouth. Bokuto moved his head from Keiji’s shoulder to put their foreheads together again, cupping his hands on Keiji’s jaw as he grinned, confused, eyes half-lidded and breathing heavy in post-orgasm bliss.

“What?” He asked, and Keiji couldn’t stop. Bokuto’s face always lit up when Keiji laughed. “Keiji, _what?”_ Bokuto had almost started laughing too.

“We just lost our virginity,” he laughed. “To _The Lion King.”_

When Bokuto started laughing Keiji couldn’t stop. Glee filled him, both inside and out.

He was so, _so_ unimaginably happy. He felt like he’d eaten the sun. It was a feeling that Keiji had never expected he would be allowed to feel.

 _Can you feel the love tonight_ continued to play in the background. Keiji couldn’t control the laughter as neither of them made any effort to turn it off, preoccupied by staring at the others grin. Bokuto’s eyes were glued to Keiji’s wide smile despite the clear effort he was using to keep them open. They flicked back up and Keiji stared into his eyes; his golden and lustrous and bright and beautiful smiling eyes.

“You’re my favourite person in the whole entire world,” Keiji told him, grinning. Bokuto looked like he might cry. Keiji would say the words over and over again if he knew the immeasurable joy they brought him. “And you were wrong.”

“About what?”

“About it being bad.”

Bokuto grinned and pushed it into Keiji’s cheek, quick pecks kissing every piece of skin he could reach. Keiji laughed and, eventually, reluctantly, pushed Bokuto’s face away, rolling over in the bed.

“Where are you going?” Bokuto asked pouting, and wrapped his arms tight around Keiji’s middle as he sat up.

“I need to clean us up.”

Reaching into his bedside table he pulls out a handful of tissues, moving until he can wipe his and Bokuto’s mess off from his stomach, balling them up and throwing them into his bin so he wouldn’t have to leave the bed- leave Bokuto. He cleans Bokuto up too, much more carefully than himself, and allows for himself to be pulled down into the mattress, watches as Bokuto drags the duvet up to their chins.

“I’m glad it was you,” Bokuto says, and Keiji can feel the grin as its smothered by his shoulder.

—

When Keiji wakes in the middle of the night from some distant dream, Bokuto’s face is nestled into the pillow mere inches away, blanket rolled down in sleep to reveal his bare skin in the moonlight. Usually Bokuto slept on his back; tonight he slept on his stomach. Moonlight crept in through the window, illuminating Bokuto’s rise and fall beside him. Usually Bokuto slept with his hands curled into fists; tonight he slept with them curled in Keiji’s.

Now that Keiji knew to look he could see the silvery slivers running across the breadth of his shoulders, dividing the rippling muscles at the top of his back. Stretch marks. If he focused he could faintly make out tiny trails of acne on Bokuto’s forehead, and trailing in a thin spread just below his neck. His nails were clipped unevenly. His eyebrows weren’t symmetrical- the left one was slightly slanted upwards, and there were errant black hairs mingled in with the white. Keiji knew that beneath his closed lips Bokuto’s teeth were slightly crooked, because his family couldn’t afford to pay for braces when he was younger. There was a scar in his hairline where Kumiko threw a barbie at him as a child. There was another on his knee, where he fell off his bike last year.

Physical imperfections. Stories. Pieces of Bokuto that not many people were privy to knowing about, that even less had seen in the flesh; some with intricate sprawling stories that Bokuto had told him in the middle of the night and some which made Bokuto so insecure that he hid them away, admitting them to Keiji only. He loved them. He loved Bokuto. Keiji wasn’t sure why he found them so unimaginably endearing, but all he wanted was to press his lips to them. When Bokuto slept, he slept with a smile on his face. It was maybe Keiji’s favourite thing of all.

Absentmindedly he traced his finger down the slope of his nose, crooked where he had tried baseball when he was eleven, over the limp strands of hair that stuck to his forehead. His heart was so full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new years :))
> 
> Edit; WE HAVE FANART !!!! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD- @laperclip on twitter drew akaashi and kazumi from the last chapter and i literally had a breakdown over it. I'm so in love. Thank you SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH I CANNOT PUT IT INTO WORDS
> 
> [ LOOK AT IT LOOK AT IT IM SCREAMING ](https://twitter.com/laperclip/status/1343902988151099393/photo/1)


	22. king, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> throw me the keys, to your only door  
> been out for a while, you see  
> don't know what for  
> oh brother brother  
> you found burdens you could not keep  
> i know  
> but i'll take them off your heavy knees  
> so stay a while  
> won't you stay a while?
> 
> -brother, vraell

Keiji had been afraid of himself for as long as he could remember. It was the only way he knew how to exist. Now, he thinks, his parents are probably afraid of him too.

When he was younger it was harder to see, because he was unaware of the irrationality that coated all of his actions. When he checked the windows were shut four times in a row, every morning and every night, it was a necessary precaution. When he couldn’t go to lunch until he had stood from the chair _just right_ , until he had perfectly packed his pencils away in their square box and all without somebody talking to him or he would have to do it all over again, it was just because it made sense to him. Things would be bad if he didn’t do it this way. The right way.

At the tender age of eighteen, Keiji was aware that these things were _not_ normal. That they would never be normal. Something was wrong with his brain, and it was something that could not be fixed.

When he was twelve, freshly diagnosed, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal- it was just a word, after all. Nothing about him had changed. The words didn’t make it easier for _him_ to understand, it was for the sake of other people, so they could label his behaviour more efficiently, for _them_ to understand. Turning thirteen he noticed his parents had stopped shutting their door every evening, instead leaving it open for Keiji’s inevitable arrival. At fourteen his brother hated him, and Keiji hated him right back, and then Keiji hated himself. When he was fifteen he wondered if he was capable of having someone love him.

Keiji is eighteen, and he is aware that he’s not normal, that he never would be. He also understands completely that he _is_ capable of being loved, because he loves himself, because a boy with black and white hair told him that it was _okay_ to love himself, even after everything. He knows that these two facts are not mutually exclusive. They can coexist. He can be himself _and_ be loved.

His shoulders felt lighter with the realisation, as if the weight of the world had finally fallen. Getting ready for school felt so easy as he plucked the shirt from its hanger and buttoned it deftly, the way he would have struggled to eight years ago. The sun seemed to shine brighter in the sky. At morning practice he was performing better than he had in a long while, running on the realisations high. Coach Yamiji pulled him aside after he nailed a toss, grinning as Keiji sat beside him on the bench.

“Akaashi,” he said. He had a clipboard and he was making notes without looking down. “You’re impressive today. Your form is unrivalled by anybody on that court today.”

“Thank you sir,” Keiji said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. From the corner of his eye Keiji could see Bokuto receive the ball high into the air.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, Akaashi,” Coach said.

Keiji looked up, the Coach successfully grasping his attention. He put the clipboard down on the bench and Keiji couldn’t make out the scribbly handwriting beside his name, _Akaashi_ _Keiji_ right at the top _,_ before Yamiji continued talking.

“You need to start thinking about where you’re going to go after Fukurodani. Is there anything you’re leaning towards, currently?”

Keiji blinked owlishly. “No, sir. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Do you want to pursue volleyball further? Because,” the coach said, and he turned to face Keiji. “I think you have what it takes, if you wanted to.”

“Me?”

“You are an incredibly valuable player, Akaashi. I think that can sometimes get over-shined next to the other brilliant players on the court, but your intelligent decision making rivals that of Nekoma’s Kozume. If utilised by the correct team you could be an incredibly powerful asset. Not that I am upset by your decision to Fukurodani- you have been so, incredibly valuable to the team- but it almost seems like a waste of your potential here.”

“What?” Keiji couldn’t process what the Coach was saying entirely. It was so far out of the field he had ever thought in. “This is a powerhouse school. It’s on nationals level.”

“That’s not to say it is the best fit for every player. Especially one as powerful as you. As a setter yourself I’m sure you understand when I say that the setter truly makes the team. If we look at this years nationals teams- do you think Karasuno would have made it to nationals without Kageyama Tobio?”

Keiji debated between honesty and kindness. “No.”

“Exactly. But they got to nationals. Even though Kageyama is there, can you imagine him if he joined somewhere such as Shiratorizawa?”

Keiji hummed. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Coach exasperated.

“What I’m saying, Akaashi, is you’ve got so much untapped potential, I think. You’re growing here, you’re growing _strong_ here _,_ but do you not think about how you may have flourished somewhere else?”

There might have been some truth to the words, even if he didn’t particularly want to consider it. Keiji tried to picture himself as a Nekoma player. If it were a battle between he and Kozume, would he have even been a starter there? Talent was nothing when you were pitted next to someone with _more_ of it.

Furthermore, Keiji thought, would he have even _wanted_ to go somewhere else?

Bokuto explained it to Tsukishima in the last training Camp as a single moment; suddenly the realisation that you wanted to continue playing volleyball crushed you. Keiji knew what his moment was, the one that took him from a nervous fourteen year old to someone who wanted something enough to go after it, and he knew that he wouldn’t have found that at Nekoma. He wouldn’t have found that anywhere but here.

“How long do I have to decide?” Keiji asked.

“Applications to Universities get sent off around September, so you’ve got some months to decide. But the reason I brought it up is because a team has enquired about you, on the terms of a scholarship.”

The words took a moment to settle in his chest. Keiji was careful to school his face so as not to show any hope, or the surprise blooming and curling in his veins.

“A scholarship?”

“Yes. Your grades and your athletic ability combined are something to be watched, Akaashi, and people _have.”_

“Where to?’”

“Tokai.”

His tongue was dry as sand.

Tokai was a _very_ good school, and their intercollegiate volleyball was played to an incredibly high standard.

And, his mind supplied, it is only a half-hour drive away from Tokyo, where Bokuto will be studying.

Keiji didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he merely nodded his head. The coach laughed.

“They’re giving you a month and a half to decide. The offers open until summer, so just think about it, okay?”

Tokai university. Known for their defensive strategy and intelligence in matches. Yamiji put his hand on Keiji’s shoulder.

“The options there, Akaashi. You’re a better player than I think you give yourself credit for.”

Coach got up. Keiji took a moment before pushing himself up, too.

Bokuto was grinning when Keiji got under the ball Komi had received in a high arc, tossing it in an arc as Bokuto liked it, as he smashed it onto the other side of the net.

“All good?” He asked. His chest was heaving with the effort it took to be the ace. His eyes were smiling. His forehead was dripping with exertion.

Keiji nodded. Bokuto got back just in time to receive.

—

The sky was just beginning to darken as Keiji got behind the steering wheel, as he switched on the ignition and the car roared to life.

“I think you’re probably going to be ready for a test soon,” Kazumi said offhandedly as Keiji indicated to go right around the roundabout. Checking his mirrors was second nature by now. “You pick things up so quickly. I’m envious. Took me forever to learn.”

“Only three in ten people pass their test the first time. I’ll probably fail.”

“I don’t think so.”

The car shuddered. Keiji moved it up to fourth gear.

“I’ve been offered a scholarship,” Keiji blurted. “To Tokai, to continue playing volleyball.”

“Oh shit,” Kazumi said, turning to him. “Keiji, thats amazing!”

“I only have a month to decide.”

“What’s there to decide? You’re getting your education paid for, at one of the top Universities in Japan, _and_ you get to continue playing?”

“I know.”

“Sounds like an easy choice to me.”

“I know.”

Kazumi paused. His eyes were all-knowing. “So what’s stopping you?”

It sounded stupid in his head. The choice was too blatantly obvious, and the opportunity was so rare that he would have to be stupid to turn it down, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He knew he shouldn’t lie to Kazumi either.

“There’s somewhere else.”

“Where? I thought you hadn’t started looking yet.”

He hadn’t. Not officially. Because he knew how impractical it was.

“Kyoto.” The location was difficult enough to admit, and not expected by the look on Kazumi’s face- a five hour drive from where he currently lived. The next part was harder. “I think I want to study art.”

Nothing about this decision was practical; all some elusive fantasy Keiji had conjured in his mind.

“I have a portfolio,” Keiji felt the need to justify. “I’ve always wanted to draw. It could end up being useful too- I could go into architecture, or engineering or something. And I don’t really have anybody to impress anymore. Or maybe I could go and do art as an extracurricular but I won’t have time to balance volleyball too.” Then, realising how stupid he sounded, he stopped. “Tokai is a better option.”

“What’s the point in going to Tokai if you don’t want to go?”

“It will be better for my future, probably. And I could continue with volleyball. And it’s close to home.” And close to Bokuto.

Kazumi considered, and rested his head on his palm. “I’m doing law. I just finished it. I’ll be doing law forever.”

“Yes.”

“And I fucking hate it.”

Keiji knew this. He had pretended somewhere in his mind that he didn’t, but he did. He thinks of little Kazumi strumming the acoustic guitar he got for Christmas on his bed, wearing his _The Smiths_ sweatshirt four sizes too big for him. _Life changing,_ he had said. He thought of 21 year old Kazumi now, posters still hung on his wall from his childhood, guitar musty and shoved under the bed, falling asleep to soft rock on the radio.

“I can’t go to Kyoto anyways,” he dragged his eyes back to the road. “I can’t afford to go, and I don’t think mom or dad will be eager to pay for me anymore.”

“Don’t count it out,” Kazumi said. A determined crinkle set between his eyebrows. “We’ll make something work.”

“We?”

Kazumi rolled his eyes.

Keiji continued driving until the sun dipped below the sky, and until dusk had eclipsed the car. Everything felt calmer. The looming shape of the house was approaching, and both boys seemed to shrink beneath it.

“Hell sweet hell,” Kazumi whispered as Keiji pulled in. Keiji laughed under his breath.

Kazumi fiddled with his seatbelt, ready to remove it, but Keiji noticed he had pulled to wide on the road. They were still inches out from the pavement.

 _I can do better,_ he thought, and shifted the car into reverse. His hand remained on the wheel as he turned to look over his shoulder, craning his neck to see out the back window.

Dim orange street-light filtered through to the cars interior. Keiji noticed something glint from inbetween the cars back seats.

He pulled his foot up from the clutch and the car shuddered, stalling to a stop. Kazumi sat up.

“Keiji, what?” He laughed. “Oh, you stalled. That’s okay, you’re still-”

He cut himself off. Keiji reached into the backseat and plunged his hand to dig out the object, which was now dull in his palm, heavy and unforgiving. His shoulders fell with the weight, too, as his fingers revealed what it was.

A watch.

More specifically, a gold watch. One with unticking hands, because it had stopped exactly one year after Keiji had received it from his grandparents. The watch which resided at the back of the fourth drawer on the left side of his desk, until it had gone missing three months ago.

“How did you get this?” Keiji’s voice was barely containing everything. It was slipping through hairline cracks in his throat.

“Keiji,” Kazumi faltered, and it was because of that Keiji knew. “Keiji, I need you to just listen-”

“You took it.”

Everything was flurrying inside of him. Anger, and sadness, and the knowledge that this had ruined _everything._

“Keiji-”

Keiji got out of the car. He walked to the back doors of the car and opened them, climbing onto the seats. Kazumi didn’t move. He didn’t look at Keiji.

He had to see for himself. What else was in the back?

He reached below the drivers seat and the fur-lined thing he had glimpsed weeks ago when Kazumi stopped at a gas station was still there, neatly folded and hidden away where Keiji would never see. He pulled it out and it unfurled on his lap.

“Is this moms coat?”

He didn’t know why he bothered asking- he knew it was. His mothers coat which she hadn’t worn all of winter. Now that he saw it he remembered her asking him almost four months ago, _have you seen where I put my nice coat? The cashmere one?_

His skin crackled. He dropped the coat on the floor, and got out to open the trunk.

“Keiji stop,” Kazumi tried weakly, but his head was in his hands and he was still in the passenger seat of the car. Keiji ignored him and wrenched it open.

Treasures were scattered throughout. A pearl necklace his mother wore to fancy parties, a very nice leather briefcase, a pair of cufflinks with two gorgeous blue sapphires embedded in the silver. There was an old phone, and piles of scattered papers. A fountain ink pen, ruby-red earrings. He slammed the trunk shut.

In this time Kazumi had gotten out of the car and was frantic, eyes glued to Keiji.

A burning fire had been glowing like a candle in his stomach for weeks, as everything in his life had gently begun to fall apart; his flare up while driving, his parents discovering his relationship, the photo of their kiss broadcast for the world to see. The vandalism, the letter in his locker, the fight with Bokuto, the divorce, the _his fault his fault his fault._ The O.C.D. The being gay. The loneliness and the never being good enough and the anger and the pain. He had been gripping to the edge of a cliff front with shaking fingers, and now Kazumi had come and stepped on them. The fire fanned up until the forest of his mind had burned down. All he knew was anger. _Rage._ Pain.

Kazumi reached for his arm. He flinched back, seething. “Keiji I can explain.”

“You’ve been stealing from us. From _me!”_

 _“_ It’s not like that.”

Keiji realised he was still holding the watch in his hand. He threw it to the ground, palms shaking, and the glass in it shattered. Kazumi looked back up to him and Keiji could see that he was now angry too.

“Why the fuck would you do that!?”

“You stole it! You stole _everything!”_

He was breaking. Nothing in his head was working anymore.

“I’m trying _so_ fucking hard, Keiji. Don’t do this.”

“You said you were better,” Keiji’s voice shook as he moved backwards. “You’re not fucking better. You’re the same liar you were back then.”

“I have _never_ lied to you.”

“You’ve been taking my things! And what- selling them? How much have you taken?” Keiji considered it. He was trembling- with rage or upset he didn’t know. “You’ve been going into my room. You’ve been going through my things!”

He fisted his hands in his hair. _Calm down calm down calm down,_ he told himself as he clenched his eyes shut. His fingers were shaking. He needed to count. _One, two, three, four._ He hadn’t expected this. He had _not_ expected this.

Kazumi reached for him again.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

He recoiled. “Why do you think you’re any better, huh? Like you’ve never made a mistake. I’ve been nothing but here for you since I got back and all you fucking do is yell at me, and push me away, because of something I did four fucking years ago!”

“Was any of it real?” Keiji dared himself to ask. “Did you actually care about me at all?”

“Of course I fucking did! Did _you?_ ”

All the nights sitting on the sofa and watching shitty action films. The driving lessons, the music. Helping Keiji school his hair into something more orderly for his first date, holding Keiji in his arms when he fucked up driving, picking him from Fukurodani, teasing him about Bokuto, laying next to him when he had been outed to the world, refusing to let him be alone.

 _Our parent’s have fucked up a lot of things,_ Kazumi’s voice echoed, his teary eyes locked on Keiji’s in the mirror.

“They hate me, Keiji!” Kazumi yelled, guttural, which was when Keiji realised he was crying. “They stopped paying for my apartment and I owe Arisu money. I need money! You’ve had a hard life but so have I!”

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“They don’t fucking love me either! My whole life, I’ve done _everything_ to be good enough for them, and I’m never fucking enough!”

Kazumi’s voice was hoarse with choked sobs as he screamed on the pavement.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you, Keiji! I’m trying so fucking hard! I’m trying _so hard!_ ”

Kazumi had ripped Keiji’s heart from his chest and pummelled it into the floor. He looked at the broken watch, taken from his fourth drawer, and at his burning liar of a brother crying onto the floor.

 _But they haven’t fucked up us. Not completely,_ he said. _Not yet._

“I trusted you,” he whispered, because he knew he would cry if he tried to get anything louder out. Kazumi wailed, loud and pained. “I tried so fucking hard, too.”

Keiji walked away. He trusted his legs to get him to where he wanted to go. He could hear Kazumi’s cries the entire length up the street.

—

Bokuto Koutarou’s entire family was home. Keiji could tell because of the warm light glowing through the windows, gently illuminating the pink flowerbeds below. He stared at the door for a solid minute before someone opened it, but he was so vacant that he couldn’t be sure he had knocked at all.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto’s father Hiroki greeted him at the door. Keiji could hear children’s laughter from somewhere behind him. “Is everything okay?” He asked when he noted Keiji’s expression.

“Could I please see Bokuto?”

His voice sounded empty. Hiroki’s eyes didn’t leave him. “He’s up in his room.”

“Thank you.” His voice shook.

The dam inside his chest was threatening to spill over. _I can make it to his room,_ he told himself.

He toed off his shoes and made his way up the familiar staircase, aware of Hiroki’s eyes on his back. Nerves bundled in his stomach as he knocked on Bokuto’s door.

“One sec!” Bokuto yelled from the other side. Keiji’s heart clenched, and then the door swung open. Bokuto grinned. “Akaashi!”

Keiji pushed his head straight into Bokuto’s chest and sobbed, something deep and painful pushing its way out of this throat.

“Keiji,” Bokuto said and pushed the door shut. His actions were hurried as he engulfed Keiji in his arms, manoeveuring them so they were sat on his bed instead of in the hallway.

Sob after sob clawed its way out of his lungs. It was brutal, painful crying; a way he hadn’t cried in years. Everything was too much. Bokuto held the back of his head in his hand, the other across his back, holding Keiji like he could physically keep him together despite the steaming fissures.

“Keiji, what’s wrong?” He asked, frantic, as Keiji wailed into his neck like he was dying. It _hurt,_ and he couldn’t stop. Bokuto moved his hands in circles too fast to be comforting. “It’s okay, hey, hey, it’s alright, I’m here. I’ve got you. Baby I’ve got you.”

“I can’t _do it_ ,” Keiji cried. His voice hiccuped with tears, pooling at his chin, collecting in Bokuto’s shirt. “I can’t do it anymore!”

“Can’t do what? Keiji, hey, talk to me.”

There was a knock on the door and it opened. Keiji sobbed and it hurt. Everything _hurt._

“Is everything okay-” Bokuto’s mother’s voice started.

“Get out!” Bokuto yelled, clutching Keiji tighter to his chest like he could protect him from the world. Keiji let himself fall apart in his hands. “Get out!”

The door shut. Keiji had never heard Bokuto yell at his parents before.

“Please tell me whats wrong, Keiji. I’m scared. Please.”

“Kazumi-” is what he got out before he dissolved into hysterics again. Bokuto’s armed tightened almost subconsciously around him, pulling him into his lap, Keiji’s arms clenched around his neck. The need to be held was overwhelming, unlike any comfort he had ever sought after before.

“What happened?” Bokuto pressed frantic kisses to Keiji’s hair, to his temple, to wherever his mouth could reach while they were joined so closely.

“He fucked it all up! Everything-” Keiji sobbed. He knew he was yelling but he couldn’t stop it. It was the only way to get the words out. “- _Everything.”_

“Keiji it’s all gonna be okay, okay? It’s okay. You’re okay, baby. Let it all out.”

“I hate him,” he hiccuped. “I hate them all.”

Bokuto didn’t say anything else, just holding Keiji while he let out the years worth of emotions building in his chest, rubbing his back to coax out the cries.

He wasn’t just crying for Kazumi. He was crying for everyone who had ever hurt him. He was crying for all the times he run from his problems, pushing people away instead of allowing them to help. Bokuto smoothed his hands through Keiji’s hair, down the back of his neck, anywhere they could reach.

“I’m sorry,” he cried as the sobs died down. He sniffled. Another cry tore its’ way out. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve not done anything wrong. Keiji, you’re so brave. So beautiful. My beautiful boy. You’re okay.”

He let the sweet nothings tide him over, relishing in the comfort for once in his life. He let Bokuto hold him like he’d never let go.

When he finally pulled his head back from Bokuto’s neck he knew he had never looked worse. He could only meet Bokuto’s eyes because a dull numbness was threatening to spill over where the emotions had pooled out. A single errant tear trickled down his cheek over the crust of the dries ones. Bokuto used his thumb to wipe it away.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asked, voice hesitant. His eyes were wide with concern, and his bottom lip trembled.

Keiji whispered, shaky. “No.”

The arm was wrapped around his back again, pulling him into Bokuto’s chest, but this time Bokuto moved them so they were laying entwined on his bed instead. He reached down and pulled the duvet up to their shoulders, bundling Keiji in his arms and blanket and warmth as he clutched him close, as he pressed a lingering kiss to Keiji’s forehead.

“Stay here tonight,” Bokuto said, and Keiji wasn’t in the state to argue. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Okay,” he whispered. His hands were still trembling beneath the blankets and Bokuto took them in his, twining all four of their hands together. Keiji shut his eyes to keep the tears away.

He didn’t open them as Bokuto shifted how they were laying, pulling Keiji on top of his body. He didn’t open them when Bokuto held him as tightly as he had when he was crying so hard he worried it would never stop.

He didn’t open them as the chest below him vibrated softly, and Bokuto’s lips moved in his hair.

 _“Everybody loves the things do,”_ he sang quietly. “ _From the way you talk, to the way you move.”_

It was some generic song that had been on the radio earlier, but the song didn’t matter. Bokuto’s voice did. The fact that Bokuto was singing to _him_ did.

His voice wasn’t very good. It was shaky and slow and he didn’t know all the words. Keiji could feel the tears starting in his eyes again.

 _If I was sad, sometimes he would sing for me,_ Bokuto had said a thousand years ago, crying on Keiji’s bed, telling him about his older brother.

 _“You look like a movie,”_ Bokuto whispered. “ _You sound like a song.”_

Keiji unfurled like paper in his hands.

Keiji is eighteen, and nothing would ever be okay again. He had nothing left of himself to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to that song if u wanna cry about kazumi


	23. orange and violet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm standing guard, i'm falling apart  
> and all i want is to trust you  
> show me how to lay my sword down for long enough to let you through  
> here i am, pry me open  
> what do you want to know?  
> i'm just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut  
> and bury my innocence
> 
> -eight, sleeping at last

Waking up in Bokuto’s bed wasn’t something Keiji ever expected to dread the thought of, but on the morning of his third consecutive night in the Bokuto’s house there was nothing he wanted more to go home.

That wasn’t necessarily true; Keiji could count on both hands the things he wanted more, like different parents, or a car, or to have never reversed that night, to have never noticed the watch glinting between the seats. But the longing to go home was impossible to ignore, too.

“Good morning, Akaashi,” Bokuto’s mother greeted as he came down the stairs for breakfast. He hadn’t been able to meet her eyes since she walked in on Keiji’s hysterical breakdown. She still served him breakfast daily without fail despite that.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san.”

She didn’t ask him if he had heard anything from his parents anymore. It was abundantly clear that they hadn’t noticed their sons sudden disappearance.

Kazumi had called. Keiji didn’t pick up the phone, instead letting it vibrate on the windowsill all night long while Bokuto watched it with sad eyes, but didn’t tell him to answer it. There were multiple texts too, which Keiji only let himself read after Bokuto was fast asleep.

 _I’m so fucking sorry Keiji,_ they read. _Please talk to me._

The memory of his brother crying on the sidewalk outside their house was ingrained into his head, playing on a constant loop like a broken film behind his eyes. Kazumi clutching his chest like he was in physical pain, wailing like he was dying. His heart tightened involuntarily. He put the phone face down. Kazumi had made his choice.

“Thank you,” he said as Bokuto’s mother slid the breakfast across the table. The bowl was chipped along the edge.

“No worries.”

Their conversations had remained clipped throughout his stay. On the surface Keiji was surprised; he had expected her to be the type to initiate Keiji in long speeches of how everything would be okay, to pull him into a hug she would never let him out of. Instead the most she did was watch him with sad eyes. Deeper, Keiji knew she was probably unsure with how to handle the situation. Keiji wasn’t _her_ child, after all, and he had almost certainly overstayed his welcome, though the Bokuto’s were too polite to ever demand he leave.

She had fought with Bokuto, too, the morning after she had walked in to Keiji sobbing into her sons shoulder, screaming as though there was some physical wound that she could kiss and make better. He had rolled over and found the bed was cold beside him, and when he sat up he could hear the distant yells through the thin walls.

“Koutarou, _tell me what happened,”_ her voice carried.

“I don’t know!” Bokuto shouted. “Mom I _don’t know_ what happened _.”_

“If it’s something serious you need to tell us.”

“You’ve _told me_ -”

“Do _not_ raise your voice at me. We’re all worried sick! We gave you your space but you need to talk to us!”

“Please just leave us alone, mom! It’s got nothing to do with you!”

“The last time I left one of my sons alone he ended up _dead_ Koutarou! I’m not going to let that be you. Now tell me what’s wrong, _please.”_

Keiji stopped listening after that, curling back in the bed, clenching his eyes as tight as he could. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was before any of this happened.

“How are you today, Keiji?” She asked him now, her back to him as she washed her plate in the sink. Her tone was apprehensive, calm, like she was asking a crying toddler where their mother was.

He pushed the food around. Three days and he still hadn’t gained much of an appetite. “Better, Bokuto-san, thank you.”

After twenty minutes of prodding his food he finally stood up and scraped it into the bin, intimately aware of the guilt settling in his gut. He washed up, and he could feel her eyes following him as he placed the bowl on the drying rack. She didn’t say a word anything else, and he returned to Bokuto’s bedroom.

Bokuto was on his bed, attention caught by the movement. Keiji closed the door gently behind him.

“Keiji,” he said as Keiji crawled onto the bed beside him, arms automatically coming to wrap themselves around Keiji’s back and pull him into his chest. “Have you had breakfast already? I would have come with you.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled.

“Are you okay?” He asked, nuzzling Keiji’s hair. “Do you want to sleep?”

“We just woke up.”

“I don’t mind! Any excuse to cuddle with you.”

Bokuto smiled, but when Keiji didn’t laugh he frowned and pressed a kiss to the crown of Keiji’s head, and then moved so they were laying on their sides, noses pressed together.

“What’s the matter, Keiji?”

Keiji focused his eyes. Bokuto looked blurry from here, on his side. His eyelashes were so long and white. He was entirely cast in the light from the sun, golden and ethereal and beckoning.

“I have to go home, Koutarou.”

“No you don’t!” Bokuto said, eyes wide and then softening. He pressed a kiss to Keiji’s forehead, to his nose, and then ducked his head under Keiji’s chin and spoke into his chest, shirt bundled in his fists. “Stay here with me.” There was a kiss to his collarbone. Bokuto was pleading. “Please don’t go back there.”

“I can’t stay here forever.”

“Yes you can.”

Keiji didn’t know how to respond. He let his mind wander, imagining a world in which he could live here with Bokuto and his family until he died. Eating with them every morning. Waking to Bokuto each day. He wanted it so badly his hands shook. Bokuto’s nose rubbed right over where his heart was. There wasn’t a thing he wanted more than to have this forever.

But not like this. He didn’t want it like this.

“I can’t keep running away,” he said at last, voice at the volume of a whisper because he didn’t trust it not to break if it was any louder.

“Nobody will blame you for running away from _this,_ Keiji.”

“I will.”

It was the truth, and it was an unwanted weight in his chest- the knowledge that he _had_ to go back, that running away from this wasn’t an option. No matter how much he wished it, Bokuto’s family was not _his_ family. This was not Keiji’s home. The hand Keiji had been dealt was shitty, but it was what he had and no amount of wishing away would change that.

Bokuto seemed to know that this was Keiji’s decision, too, because he didn’t protest, and despite his earlier weak pleading he didn’t beg Keiji to stay. Instead he shuffled closer to Keiji’s chest, hiding away any chance Keiji had at reading his expression.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked. Keiji trailed his hands through Bokuto’s hair.

He didn’t want Bokuto anywhere near that place again. Keiji knew firsthand how suffocating the walls were, and now there wasn’t a person on his side in the building he didn’t want to subject Bokuto to it any longer. And, more selfishly, he was worried that Bokuto would be contaminated by it. “I think I need to go alone.”

Bokuto moved his hands up Keiji’s back until they caressed between his shoulder blades. He pressed his lips to the centre of Keiji’s chest. “You’re the bravest person I know. But you’re not alone. Not ever. Because I’ll come anywhere with you, if you want me to.” He kissed his chest again, and again, using it as a form of non-verbal punctual. “If you need me just call me and I’ll come.”

“You’re silly,” Keiji said instead of a proper response. The golden haze through the window was beginning to fade away. Keiji itched to be home. Being here went against every inch of his routine and his body was desperate to go back. His toothbrush wasn’t here- it was at home, on the wrong side of the holder as he failed to go home after his fight with Kazumi. It had been sitting on his mind for days, no matter how far away he tried to push it.

“I love you.”

Keiji didn’t reply. He allowed himself to bask in this feeling a final time, before climbing out of the bed and leaving Bokuto behind him.

—

Keiji had lived in this house as long as he could remember. It was big- too big for only four people- and a combination of all the best features of both traditional homes and new modern ones, like the rustic exposed brick and dark-wood door, the sleek, tall windows and the black-slate roof. There was a floorboard that creaked right at the bottom of the staircase; unless you knew it was there, unless you knew to tread lightly. He had always sidestepped with ease.

Akaashi Keiji often wondered what his house looked like to strangers, to people who hadn’t known the insides or out as intimately as he did. Now, stood on the front porch in the cold and bitter air, he felt like one.

He didn’t know if anybody was inside- knocking would be like playing Russian roulette, the bullet being Kazumi. The likelihood of Kazumi being home was disproportionately favoured, too, as he had nowhere else to go. Keiji didn’t like the odds. He pulled the keys from his pocket to let himself into the shell of a home.

Usually he could slip away to his room without being noticed. Today Keiji’s father sat on the bottom step of the stairs, tying his shoes. He looked up when the door creaked open.

Keiji waited for his father to say something. He toed off his shoes, feigning casualness, and noticed the absence of his mothers coat on the hook.

“Keiji,” his dad said at last, and left it at that.

There was so much Keiji wanted to tell him. There wouldn’t ever be enough time to say everything.

Distantly Keiji knew that his mother would never love him the way a mother was supposed to love her child, and he knew deep down that it had nothing to do with _him._ Keiji could be the most perfect child in the whole universe and he knew she would never love him.

But his father was different, because he _had_ loved him. Had loved them both. His father used to take them to school, used to sit by their bedsides and read them stories when they were ill. When Keiji was tiny his dad used to pick him up and put him on his shoulders, running through the house as if it was an obstacle course and laughing as Keiji did.

His father chose his name. Kazumi had told him that once, and that their mother chose _his._

Keiji remembered the weight of Hiroki’s arms around him- somebody else’s father comforting him when his own dad couldn’t, as he cried and cried into his arms in the ungodly hours of the morning.

“Dad,” he said, an acknowledgement, and turned on his heel to walk to the kitchen.

“Keiji!” He yelled after him, and for reasons Keiji couldn’t explain he stopped.

His father was breathing heavily behind him. Keiji didn’t turn around to look.

“Keiji,” he said again. “Where have you been?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does when you’ve not been home in three days. Where on earth were you?”

“With Bokuto, and his family.”

The last bit was unnecessary. Keiji only said it in hopes of making his father flinch.

“Well, you’re back now, son. That’s all that matters.”

It took every ounce of restraint he had not to yell right then and there, to _scream._ He hadn’t heard anything from his parents in days, and here his dad was pretending everything was okay because Keiji came back.

Instead, he said, “yeah,” and hoped his dad could hear his heart breaking.

“Well we need to talk about something Keiji. Something important. I’ve already spoken to Kazumi about it- we were just waiting for you to get back.”

“What is it?” He whirled around. Keeping his anger down was becoming more and more difficult. His phone buzzed in his pocket- almost certainly Bokuto checking he got home okay.

“You might want to sit down for this,” his father said, voice uncertain. Keiji could now see how tight his eyes were, how thin his hair sat atop his head. “It’s something important.”

“Just tell me.”

Akaashi Rin took a deep breath, the words tumbling out with the exhale. “Your mother and I are getting a divorce.”

Keiji could laugh. He _did,_ slightly. “I know.”

“You know?”

“I heard you talking about it on the stairs, amongst other things.”

 _Well the whole world knows now. That our son fucks men._ That was what his mother had said, deep and trilling in Keiji’s ears weeks later. He knew it would be something that he never forgot- hurtful words ingrained into his very soul. He would be forty and they would still haunt him.

“Well,” his father said, fiddling with his fingers, and Keiji was expecting a lecture, ready to be told off for eavesdropping so his father could ignore the part where he wounded his son. “We’ve been talking about assets and the practicality of divorce, because it’s really such a messy thing Keiji,” he took a deep breath, “and I’ve decided that you’re going to be living with _me_. If you want.”

That wasn’t where he thought the conversation was going.

“Live with you?”

“You still need to stay with one of us, and amongst the physical possessions we’ve also got to think about where you two are going to be staying for the time being- especially with Kazumi being back from University for the foreseeable future.”

Keiji hadn’t thought about that at _all._ Childishly he hadn’t realised that his parents divorcing meant _not being together._ But, selfishly, he also knew that he would rather stay with his dad than his mom.

Maybe it would actually be _better._ A life without his mother. He darted his eyes back to his father, apprehensive to ask.

“Who is Kazumi staying with?”

Keiji was nervous about the answer, because he didn’t _know_ what he wanted it to be.

His father seemed reluctant to answer. “Your mother.”

Keiji’s mind stalled.

Keiji and their dad. Kazumi and their mom. They were going to be split up.

A year ago there was nothing Keiji would have wanted more than to never see his brother again, and to get rid of his mother alongside would have been an added bonus. Three days ago, maybe, he would have been so easy to agree, too. Now he wasn’t sure.

He could imagine it in vivid detail. Kazumi waking each morning wishing he hadn’t, forced back to law school to follow in his mothers footsteps. His guitar hidden back under his bed. His mother would be home once a week to ensure she tells Kazumi he isn’t doing good enough, that he would _never_ be good enough. They must not know about the stealing because Kazumi wouldn’t be staying with _either_ of them if they did, so maybe she would find out about that too and beat Kazumi so badly he can’t stand. Slowly she would suck the life out of Kazumi more than she had already done so until there was nothing of him left- until he was a carbon replica of her. Maybe he would neglect his kids, too. Maybe he would force them apart until they hated eachother, too.

Because, thinking back on it, it wasn’t really either of their fault they despised one another as children. How could it be when they were forced to grow up too early, when the only people they had in their lives were eachother?

Keiji knew he would never tell them about Kazumi stealing, because even if he hated Kazumi more than he could put into words, he hated their parents more. Because Kazumi was just a boy as much as Keiji was.

He surprised himself when he spoke up. “Don’t make him go with mom.”

“Keiji.”

Keiji steeled himself. The words hurt him as much as they hurt his father. “You have never been there for me when I needed you. _Ever._ When I was hurting and all I wanted was someone to tell me it was okay you weren’t there for me. Mom wasn’t, but neither were you.” Keiji exhaled and it shook. “You’re a horrible father.”

Whatever reaction he expected, it wasn’t the silent sigh from his fathers lips, and the quietly muttered, “I know.”

“Then don’t let Kazumi go with mom.” Keiji paused. “She’ll fuck him up for good.”

“I don’t know if she’ll agree to it, Keiji. It’s not that easy. It’s not fair for me to get the both of you-”

“She doesn’t _want_ us, dad!”

His father shook his head. “Try and understand-”

“Give her the house then, or the cars. Money. I don’t know, whatever she wants.”

At the stricken look on his fathers face Keiji’s voice broke. “We’re your _children.”_

“I know!” His father covered quickly, hands up in defence. At least he had the mind to look sorry. “I know, Keiji. I’ll try.”

There was a pause. Keiji considered walking up the stairs and leaving the conversation there, but his father had different ideas. He opened his mouth and shut it, and then opened it again.

“I’ve not been there for you. For either of you.”

Keiji bit his tongue. “I know.”

“I’ll be better for you,” his dad swore, and from the pleading look in his eyes Keiji could almost believe he meant it. “I _will_ be better.”

“You’ve had eighteen years to be better.”

The lock on the front door turned. Keiji didn’t wait around to see who it was.

He avoided the creaky floorboard below the stairs with ease- the only giveaway that he wasn’t a stranger in this home.

—

Tracing his fingertips along the cool glass in the hallway, Keiji pressed the window shut, routine so ingrained that he didn’t have to think while he did it. His body always ached to be doing this- the tension melted away from his shoulders as he checked, _one, two, three, four,_ like a snapped rubber band.

The first windows were always the easiest- the hallway, the guest bedroom. It got harder the further around the house he got, once the living room and kitchen morphed into the two bedrooms beside his own.

Keiji never knocked, and he didn’t feel the need to do so now. He pushed the door to his mother and fathers room open, chin raised.

His mother was sat on the bed, reading glasses perched on her nose as she scrutinised paperwork. She did not acknowledge Keiji’s arrival, nor did he expect her to. He did his business and left. For the last month all interactions with his mother had been this- a business transaction, with as little contact as possible.

She didn’t say anything as he left. He didn’t turn around, either.

The walk to the next door, when in reality was only seconds away, felt like it took him a lifetime to travel.

The familiar door looked identical to every one around it. The only giveaway as to who was behind it was the quiet guitar music filtering through the centimetre-wide gap at the bottom. Keiji pushed it open with hesitant hands.

He was more nervous to open this one than his parents, because he _knew_ how that would go. Keiji had no idea what could possibly happen here.

Akaashi Kazumi was not asleep, as Keiji expected him to be, but plucking nervously at the instrument in his lap. He darted his eyes upward as Keiji waited at the doorframe.

“Keiji,” he said, hurried, and Keiji immediately drew his eyes away.

“I’m checking your windows,” he said, and walked over to the sill. He could feel Kazumi’s eyes intent on his back.

For a moment he thought Kazumi might leave it there, and that would be their interaction for the foreseeable future. Growing up he learned that brothers never really resolved their fights with apologies- more so somebody would get bored of being mad, and then they would play video games together and pretend that it never happened.

This wasn’t quite that sort of argument, though. Keiji didn’t think this would be fixed with video games.

 _One, two,_ he checked. _Three, four._

“Please can we talk about this.”

_One, two, three, four._

“Are you going to tell mom and dad?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why are you moving in with mom?”

He whirled round. Unrelenting anger burned in his stomach at Kazumi, but after three days it was struggling to be anything more than residual. Looking at his brother he couldn’t stop the image of Kazumi’s screaming cry tainting him. _They don’t fucking love me either!_

He was angry, but he was also desperate. Pleading.

Kazumi looked away from Keiji’s eyes. “Because I want to.”

“No you don’t,” Keiji snarled.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, Kazumi, I _do_ know that.”

“Well maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

There was truth to those words. Keiji had been blind-sighted by one part of Kazumi for years, believing him to be nothing more than his mistake, assuming that one piece of him was _all_ of him. He had only began to know his brother in the last three months. Maybe he was stupid. Maybe he didn’t know who Kazumi was at all.

“Maybe I don’t,” he wavered. The outside air was cool- the window wasn’t open but Keiji could still feel it on his neck. “But I know her. And she will absolutely _kill_ you.”

“I survived her for eighteen years Keiji. I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“No,” Kazumi said and stood up, throwing the guitar onto the bed. It landed gently. “ _You’re_ being stupid.”

Keiji was taken aback. He pulled his hands back from the glass so he could turn to look in Kazumi’s eyes. “Fuck you.”

“If I don’t go what’s going to happen, Keiji?” He waited, but Keiji didn’t answer. “Hm?” He prompted.

Keiji wanted to leave. Taking quick strides, not looking at Kazumi, he moved across the room. His hands itched to turn around, to continue counting the glass, but his head decided against it. He reached the door when-

“God, when will you _stop running away?”_

He stopped. When he said his words, he spat them, watching Kazumi in his peripheral. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“If I don’t go with her, _you_ do.”

He knew it was coming. It still didn’t dull the slap of it. He was enraged. He was afraid.

“Since when have you been the hero, Kazumi? Why are you doing this? I’m not a child! I don’t need you to-”

“But you are.” Kazumi bit his lip. His shoulders drooped and Keiji could picture the weights on top of them, but he couldn’t comprehend them. “I’m your big brother. And I’ve failed, so many times.”

“Just because you were born first doesn’t mean you need to be a fucking idiot!”

He could feel the desperation, the _franticness_ clawing at him, forcing its way into his words despite how badly he tried to keep it at bay. He wanted to be angry at Kazumi so badly. This isn’t how he wanted things to go.

“I’m not being an idiot, Keiji. I’m being responsible. Like I’m supposed to be.”

“Don’t go with her.”

“I’m an adult- I’ll only have to stay for a year or so until my work starts picking up again. I can save, and I’ll be out of there soon enough.”

“No, she’s gonna-” he forced the words out. Even in his head they sounded shaky. “-you’re fucked up now Kazumi, but she’s just going to turn you into another _her_ if you go _._ Don’t fucking do this! _”_

And then Kazumi sounded desperate. He gesticulated wildly with his hands. “Keiji, _I don’t have another option._ I don’t have a Bokuto I can go to. I don’t have Arisu, I don’t have any other family, or friends- I don’t have _anyone.”_

“Come with me and dad!”

Kazumi looked away, pivoting until his body was shifted to looking out of the window. Once again Keiji was caught with Kazumi’s back profile. Against the evening light he looked like a saint, painted in gold and blue and grey. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Keiji moved forward. “If it’s because of what happened you’re fucking stupid. I hate you, but I hate her _so much more.”_

“It’s not fair on you for me to be there-”

“You do _not_ get to choose what is fair for me! If you go with her-” he swallowed. Emotions were piling in his throat and he needed to force them back down. “-if you go with her I’ll hate you forever.”

Kazumi laughed softly. He looked over his shoulder, and suddenly he looked fifteen years older. Keiji always had a nagging fear about turning into his mother, but maybe _this_ was what he should have worried about, because in the cool light Kazumi had always looked more akin to her than he ever had. He looked back out of the window, shining with hues of violet and orange.

“The sky is beautiful,” he said, solemn. Keiji watched him press his fingers to the glass, a whisper of where Keiji had touched a second earlier. He counted, _one, two, three, four._ Kazumi looked back over his shoulder, and Keiji could hear as well as finally see the emptiness in his eyes as he laughed. It was between a laugh and a sob. A desperate cry for help as his eyes crinkled shut, as Keiji was doomed to watch. “It’s locked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I am getting emotional as we draw closer and closer to the end !! :(((
> 
> However I have made a twitter !! Its @potathoelord if anybody wants to come talk to me :)) thank you all for reading as always <3


	24. screaming at midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything has its place  
> it is certain to me now  
> wild and arranged  
> we were built for the same purpose somehow
> 
> -everything has its place, young mister

It wasn’t often that the Akaashis were home. It was even less often they talked to their son, but Keiji’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he walked back from class with Bokuto. He pulled it out in one smooth motion.

“It’s my father,” Keiji said aloud before picking up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Keiji,” his father’s voice rang out strong and sturdy. Bokuto was watching with rapt attention and Keiji wondered if he could hear his father, too. “How far away are you?”

“Um,” he eyed the street-sign. “Maybe fifteen minutes? Why?”

“Do you have any obligations tonight- ones that can’t be cancelled?”

“No?”

“Excellent. Dinner will be ready by the time you’re back.”

Keiji didn’t have time to question it before the line went dead.

Bokuto tilted his head. Keiji relayed the brief conversation to him.

“That’s weird,” Bokuto said as he walked.

“I’ve not eaten with any of them since-” since his mother figured out Keiji was in love with Bokuto, since she belittled him and Bokuto locked himself in their bathroom as he cried, “-in months.”

Bokuto seemed to understand anyway, because he nodded and formed a small _o_ with his mouth.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Bokuto asked, voice light despite the difficult conversation topic. It was getting easier to talk about with time. Keiji looked to him and shook his head, tightening his grip on his bag over his shoulder.

“No, I’ll walk you.”

Strictly speaking, Keiji _couldn’t_ walk Bokuto home, as his house was a stop on the way to Keiji’s, but it meant him walking up that street _with_ Bokuto until they got to the path leading to his door. The sky was just beginning to get dusky and the bushes in Bokuto’s front garden were bloomed with soft pink flowers.

Bokuto reached forward and took both of Keiji’s hands in his. He swung them slightly, smiling.

“Let me know what happens with your dad,” he said, and moved back to pull his hands out of Keiji’s, ready to go inside, but found that the grip on his hands was iron.

Keiji took a step closer and pressed his lips chastely against Bokuto’s, hands still entwined between then. When he pulled away Bokuto was smiling, eyes shut. Keiji knew Bokuto’s mother and little siblings were probably watching from the living room window but he didn’t care. Everything was worth it for Bokuto’s reverent smile.

“See you tomorrow,” Keiji said but struggled to let go. Bokuto pressed his head to Keiji’s neck and squeezed his arms once.

“I miss you.”

Keiji rolled his eyes but missed the warmth when Bokuto walked to the door nonetheless. He missed him during the rest of his walk home, too, so used to Bokuto’s presence that it felt oddly empty without him.

When he reached his door he slid his keys from his pocket to unlock it, but it swung open before he could.

“Oh,” he said, dumb. His father didn’t greet him but beckoned him inside and shut the door behind him. Keiji toed off his shoes and headed up the hall, his father tailing him the way.

What he wasn’t expecting was his mother to be sat at the dining table, hands folded neatly on the mahogany wood as she looked down at her glass unseeingly. It had been so long Keiji had almost forgotten what his mother looked like; her straight, dark hair pinned into an elaborate updo and the cleanly pressed suit jacket hung on the back of her chair, clinical and professional. When he walked in her hands unclasped and she brushed down the thighs of her pant-legs, eyebrows knitted together in some complicated emotion.

His father was at his back in an instant, gesturing to the chair between his mother and, seemingly, his father’s, sandwiched right between the beasts. “If you could sit, Keiji. I made dinner.”

He didn’t thank his father. He didn’t say anything at all- found he _couldn’t._

“Itadakimasu,” they murmured quietly and then ate entirely in silence.

Keiji wasn’t sure why he had to be here. His phone was buzzing against his thigh and he ached to answer it.

“How was school?” His father asked, awkward. The broken silence was palpable and Keiji wished his father had just left it alone.

“Fine,” he said.

“How’s Bokuto?”

Keiji opened his mouth to respond, eyebrows raised to his hairline, but there was a clatter. His head whipped to the source and found his mother had slammed her cutlery down onto the table.

Keiji ignored her. He chewed on the food he was eating and nodded. “He’s good.”

After another prolonged silence Keiji couldn’t take it. “Why am I here?”

His father stumbled over words. “We wanted to- we just wanted to talk to you.”

“You’ve never wanted to do that before.” His father hardened. Watching the transformation was awful.

“Well, Keiji, important things are happening and we all need to be on the same page for this. You’re an adult and we’re asking you to act like one.”

Keeping his hands still was difficult. He bit down on his tongue to stop the venomous outpour of words he knew would escape if he wasn’t careful.

“I don’t want Kazumi,” his mother said suddenly, probably hating the silence as much as her son and never one to beat around the bush. Keiji stared into his meal. “Your father said you want Kazumi to stay with you both. I wanted to tell you that you can have him. Your father has offered me the house in an exchange and I think that is a fair and equitable trade.”

Keiji took a moment to steady his breathing. When he met his mothers eyes his own were burning coal.

“Are you serious?”

“This is what you wanted.”

“When have you _ever_ cared what I wanted?” Keiji pushed the food away from himself, imbued with anger and a burning desire to yell. “You’re not doing this for _me,_ you’re doing this because you never wanted either of us.”

Finally the vengeance seeped out from his mother like poison. The expression on her face gradually soured, her lips pulling back to reveal bared teeth and her eyes narrowing to slits. “How _dare_ you say that-”

“Am I wrong? I know I’m not.”

“Giving up Kazumi is not easy for me, Keiji. He would work so much better here with me and that is a fact, whether you like it or not. I could get him a spot at my law firm. He is a lawyer-”

“He is a musician!” He slammed his hands into the table and the crockery rattled. His breathing was ragged.

“He is a musician,” Keiji heaved, again, “he likes music, mom, and he fucking _hates_ law. The only reason he’s doing it is to impress _you._ Did you ever think about that?”

His mother looked unaffected. Cold, calculated and cruel. “Music is not a viable career option-”

“He’s depressed! You’re _killing_ him!”

“I’m thinking about his future-”

“You’re thinking about yourself!”

A year ago he would have bowed under his mothers fiery gaze, would have surrendered himself to her lies and manipulation and allowed himself be swayed by her judgement. He would have followed the clear-cut route she had made for them without question. He would have followed in Kazumi’s footsteps.

Keiji thought that he was doing okay on his own. It was only when he saw what had been made of his brother that he realised he was still leaning into his mothers coaxing hands.

“You have never loved him,” Keiji said, placid and careful and words dripping with truth as he forced himself to look in her eyes. He wanted her to feel his words. “And you have never loved me.”

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Kazumi loves music, and telling shitty jokes. He likes to watch and critique films. He likes to sing and play guitar, and he likes _people_. All you’ve done since he was little is try to change him. You don’t _love_ him!”

Now she flinched. “I have _not-”_

“I,” Keiji started, louder, “like volleyball. And I love to draw. I like writing elusive and unrealistic stories, and I would like nothing more than to read books all day, every day. I don’t like law. I don’t like business, or math.”

He took a breath. He met his mothers eyes. “I have O.C.D. And I’m gay. And I try my hardest _every single day_ to be good enough for you. But unless I’m _you_ I never will be.”

She didn’t respond. Instead she bored into him with her cold, black eyes. The perfect mirror of Keiji’s own. Keiji pushed the chair back.

“Keep your fucking house,” he spat, “I hope you rot here sad and alone, surrounded by wealth until you die.”

The words were cruel, and he meant every one.

“Thanks for the meal.”

He left the door open behind him.

—

Keiji felt like he had changed so much through the last few months, mores perhaps than any other point in his life. Throughout it all the only thing that remained the same was Bokuto.

There had never been a time where Keiji had not loved Bokuto Koutarou, as far as he could remember. He loved him before joining Fukurodani, back when Bokuto was just a benchwarmer with a few minutes of play per game, back before anyone realised just how much potential he had. He loved him when Bokuto was so excited at having a new setter he didn’t let Keiji rest for a week. He loved him before he knew what love meant, and he loved him after Bokuto taught him that it meant understanding, that it meant patient hands and warm touches and talking and caring.

Most of all he loved Bokuto now; the Bokuto that had seen every piece of Keiji, through the gleeful laughs of their first date and the sobs of agony after his brothers betrayal. The Bokuto that loved him back away.

Keiji had never not loved Bokuto, and though he tried his best he knew he hadn’t shown him well. It was what spurred him to call Bokuto over to his house- something he had resolutely decided not to do anymore, something he did only because he knew his parents wouldn’t be back for a long while after that dinner and neither would Kazumi, and because he trusted Bokuto would come anyway.

He did. And he was allowed to ring the doorbell for once, too.

“Keiji,” Bokuto said when he opened the door, smile uncertain. “Are you-”

Keiji cut him off by pressing their lips together gently. Bokuto kissed back immediately, hands coming to cup Keiji’s face as they so often did. When Keiji pulled back Bokuto blinked, dazed. His lips stayed parted as though still breathing into Keiji’s mouth.

“The living room,” Keiji said, and Bokuto nodded.

When they rounded the corner Keiji shut the door behind them and pressed Bokuto against it, lips desperately seeking contact. Bokuto kissed back just as fervently, _eager,_ but when he moved to press his fingers up Keiji’s shirt Keiji pulled back. He cocked his head.

“Take off your shirt,” Keiji said, “and lay down.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened. He bit his lip, but after a second he did as instructed and started to pull his shirt over his head.

“Is anyone home?” He asked, nervous, and Keiji shook his head. Bokuto moved to the sofa, dropping the shirt onto the wooden floor. Keiji crawled on top and planted his thighs either side of him.

Besides their bedrooms they hadn’t kissed anything beyond a peck outside; everything was confined to the single bed in Bokuto’s lockable room or the double in Keiji’s unlock able one. He delighted in Bokuto’s reactions here, back firm against the Akaashi family couch, squirming underneath Keiji’s weight. He was breathing heavy already.

“Keiji, are we gonna-” Bokuto struggled to get the words out, but Keiji knew what he was asking by the averted eyes and the flush high on his cheekbones.

“No.”

“Oh,” He looked embarrassed, his eyebrows drew together. He squirmed again. “Then what are we doing?”

Keiji didn’t answer. Instead he pushed himself up slightly and manoeuvred until he was seated further down Bokuto’s thighs, so that when he leaned forward their stomachs were pressed firm against one another. Bokuto watched with anticipation. Keiji didn’t let himself think anymore than he needed to.

He allowed himself only a second to stall, nervous, and then he leaned up so that his lips brushed the high point of Bokuto’s cheekbones, right below his eyelashes. Bokuto’s eyes fluttered shut instinctively and his hands went to Keiji’s hips to hold his weight stable above him.

Keiji let his lips linger for a moment, and then pulled back just enough to breathe, nose pressed to Bokuto’s temple as he whispered the words. “I love that you’re so kind, and that it’s never fake kindness either. There isn’t a person in the world you don’t give an honest chance. You’re such a kind person and you don’t even have to try. I love it.”

Bokuto breathed in deep and Keiji did too. Their stomachs moved in tandem as the breathed together, Bokuto’s bare and Keiji’s hidden behind one layer of cloth. He moved to Bokuto’s hairline, lips brushing the scar only he knew was hiding there.

“You’re smart. Sometimes people don’t think you are but you _are,_ you’re _so_ intelligent, good with people and words and random trivia. And I love that you don’t ever feel the need to tell people they’re wrong, because you know you are and you that’s all that matters to you. Not what other people think.”

He pressed his lips to Bokuto’s jaw. He could feel the hum of his breathing below, could feel the way Bokuto’s hands curled in the back of his shirt.

“I love that you wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re not afraid to show when you’re upset, or happy, or angry.” Keiji paused. He knew the words were honest, and it scared him. “It’s something I’m envious of. But you’re teaching me to be better.” He kissed his jaw again. “I love that about you too.”

“Keiji-” Bokuto started, but stopped when Keiji kissed the column of his throat, effectively cutting him off.

“I love that you’re brave. I love that you don’t care what people think about you.” He kissed it again and Bokuto let out a shaky breath. “I love that you stayed with me, even when I did.” Pause. “When I _do._ ”

A kiss to Bokuto’s shoulder, right where Keiji can now make out a silvery stretch mark. He can’t believe there was a time before he knew they were there.

Bokuto laughed as Keiji’s lips touched the skin. “That tickles.”

Keiji smiled into the warm skin and kissed it again, revelling in Bokuto’s quiet laughter.

“I love that you’re happy. That you can look on the positive side no matter what happens. I love that you make _me_ happy.” Keiji smiled into the skin again, and then pulled back to look into Bokuto’s eyes. “You make me _so_ happy, Koutarou.”

A kiss to Bokuto’s bicep. A cheeky smile.

“I love your body.” He kissed slightly lower. “I _love_ your arms.”

“Keiji…” Bokuto said, flushed red and sheepish. This time Keiji laughed, and then cocked his head like a puppy. He smoothed his hand up Bokuto’s bicep feeling the muscles contract beneath his palm.

“It shows how hard you work. You put so much into volleyball and the team and this is where it shows.” He couldn’t help but trail his fingertips along Bokuto’s stomach, trusting Bokuto to hold him up above him, relishing in the shiver that travelled through him. “It shows where you’re going, too. You’re going to be the best volleyball player in all of Japan.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Keiji said, and he knew it was the truth. Bokuto didn’t bite back.

Keiji brushed a kiss over his stomach. Bokuto’s back arched, instinctive and sensitive and putty below Keiji’s mouth.

“I love,” he started, and kissed it again, just to see the way it made Bokuto that bit more breathless, “that you trust me, even when I do stupid things. I love that you don’t pressure me to do anything, ever. You let me make my own decisions and you support them no matter what.”

“Of course I do.”

Keiji kissed his stomach again purely because he knew what it was doing to Bokuto, because he liked to watch for Bokuto’s reactions. The flush was creeping up Bokuto’s chest. Keiji smiled into the skin. “I love that you get embarrassed when I kiss you here but you let me do it anyway.”

Before Bokuto could respond he pushed himself up until he was straddling Bokuto’s thighs again. Bokuto’s breath hitched as Keiji reached for his hands, as he pulled them to his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed gentle kisses over the knuckles, as he mumbled the words into his palms.

“I love your hands. I love that they’re strong and hard. I love them, I’ve loved them since they grabbed mine under the blanket at Komi’s when you were scared of that horror movie.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Bokuto admitted, hushed, eyes wide with honesty. Keiji was genuinely surprised. It, like most things, turned into laughed.

“I _love_ that you pretended to be scared so you could hold my hand.”

Bokuto looked embarrassed. Keiji laughed, kissing Bokuto’s hands messily all over again. When Bokuto tried to snatch them back he didn’t let him.

“I love,” Keiji said, ecstatic, “when you run your hands through my hair, or when they hold my face when we kiss, or how they soothe me when I’m sad. I love how they curl up into gentle fists when you sleep but that they unfurl if I kiss them. I love that I can tell what you’re thinking just by your hands.”

Bokuto laughed but Keiji could tell he was flustered. Bokuto preened under attention both on and off the court, but the difference was he was more susceptible to it when it was just the two of them, when it was private and aimed. Keiji couldn’t bite the playful smile back.

“And,” Keiji said, testing the waters, seeing how red he could get Bokuto to go, “I love when you put your fingers in my mouth.”

“Oh my gosh.”

Bokuto shied away. Keiji felt suddenly powerful, smiling. His hands began wandering south. “I loved it when your put your hands on my thighs, or when they’re wrapped around my-”

“Keiji!” Bokuto exclaimed, horrified. Keiji dissolved into laughter. He pressed one final kiss to Bokuto’s hands and let them drop, moving his head so that it rested on Bokuto’s bare chest, nestling their comfortably. He felt Bokuto’s hands instinctively move to the back of Keiji’s shoulders.

Keiji started again. He pressed a long, lingering kiss to the centre of Bokuto’s chest, eyes fluttering shut with the motion, and another one slightly to the right.

“I love your heart.”

He could feel Bokuto’s inhale more than he could hear it. Keiji took a few seconds to think about his words. Bokuto’s heart was beating against his mouth.

“I love-” Keiji started, but his voice was so thick with emotion he had to clear his throat. “-I love that through everything, you have always been you, and you have always accepted me for _me.”_

He could feel emotion filling his lungs. It took a second for the words to come out, and he tilted his eyes to look at Bokuto as he said them.

“I am not an easy person to love. I know that.” Bokuto started to interrupt but Keiji cut him off. “You have been there through everything. When I pushed you away you walked to my house in the rain. You told me things about your brother that you said you’ve never told anyone. You held me when I cried, and when I was happy you laughed with me.” Keiji swallowed. “You defended me in front of my mom, even when you knew she would tear you apart for it. You’ve defended me in front of _everyone_. Even when we were outed you didn’t- you didn’t run away. And you didn’t hate me for it. Even when I made mistake after mistake you accepted me and helped me be better.”

Bokuto brushed Keiji’s hair off of his forehead, rubbing his thumb gently along his jaw. “I didn’t make you better, Keiji. You’ve never had to change for me.” Bokuto smiled. It was soft. “I loved you from the start, too.”

Keiji bit his tongue. It was so much. It was all he had ever wanted to be told. “I know it’s not always been easy to stay, especially with my O.C.D. meaning I sometimes had to go home early, or do embarrassing things like check all your windows-”

“I’m not embarrassed by you. I’ve _never_ been embarrassed by you, Keiji. Ever.”

Keiji swallowed. Bokuto held his head in two hands and Keiji let himself nuzzle into his palms. “I love you so much.”

“Your O.C.D. is a part of you,” Bokuto said, careful to an extent Keiji hardly knew him capable, “and that part of you isn’t difficult to love because I love _you_ Keiji. Not bits and pieces of you.”

“See,” Keiji said, blinking eyes open and laughing quietly. “Your heart.”

Bokuto smiled. There wasn’t a thing Keiji wouldn’t sacrifice to keep Bokuto smiling at him that way forever.

Finally Keiji pressed a kiss to Bokuto’s forehead, to the tip of his nose, to his lips. He lingered there the longest.

“I love everything you do, I love the way you are.” He smiled against Bokuto’s lips, words a quiet murmur. It was all he could muster at this point. “I love that you walk me home most days even though my house is further than yours. I love that you know silly facts about flowers and that you tell me them all. I love the way you gel your hair up. I love that you’re an amazing brother, and that you get on so well with your family. I love that you smell of soap, always. That you still struggle to tie your shoelaces. That you always call me every night because you know I can’t sleep without it anymore.”

Bokuto was watching him silently, eyes going fuzzy trying to focus on Keiji in front of him. Keiji kissed his mouth again.

“I love that you give me your jacket when it’s cold. That you can’t have coffee because it messes with your moods. That you’re great with kids. I love that you’re loud during sex,” he laughed into Bokuto’s open mouth, as Bokuto playfully bit his bottom lip. “I love that you love to dance. I love that you’ve got stretch marks. I love how much you love dogs.” Keiji kissed him again and again, punctuation his sentences with this affection that came so easily to him now. “I love that you use metaphors sometimes because you want to be like your dad. I love that you do everything with every fibre of your being. I love that you know who you are, and I love that you love yourself. I love how _in love_ you are with life.”

He couldn’t bite back the words anymore. He said them into Bokuto’s mouth. “I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

“You’re so silly, Keiji,” Bokuto laughed but he was breathless. Keiji could see the tears about to spill from his eyes. He kissed just below them, laughing with Koutarou. “Bringing me over to your house to tell me you love me.”

He twined his hands in Bokuto’s above Bokuto’s head, pushing him into the soft material of his sofa, basking in Bokuto’s warmth. He kissed him again and again, until his head was pounding, until he was sure that he would die if he didn’t resurface for air.

—

In the past three days, Keiji had barely seen Kazumi around the house. It wasn’t unusual for him to rarely see his parents as it oftentimes felt like they didn’t live in the house at all, but Kazumi had somehow breathed life into the empty building, always watching movies in the front room or cooking badly made meals in the kitchen. The lack of his presence drew all the life back out with him.

Though one to worry easily, Keiji wasn’t one to worry about Kazumi. It was difficult to accept that the sweating of his palms and the anxious jittering of his fingers was spurred by his brother.

The idea of Kazumi living with their mother was gut wrenching. Keiji truly _would_ lose the last of his family if Kazumi left. He hadn’t expected his brother to become so important to him in these short few months.

When Keiji checked the windows that night Kazumi wasn’t in his room. A weight shifted uncomfortably in his stomach, enough so to drive Keiji into bringing his blankets and pillow down to the living room. He cocooned himself on the sofa and let the colours of the night wash over him.

He wanted to tell Bokuto- knew he’d probably still be awake if Keiji sent the message _now-_ but felt like this wasn’t particularly a situation that he should share. Telling Bokuto about his older brother going missing after a messy situation seemed like a bad idea, something too close to home given everything. Instead he resorted to watching as the light outside the window glowed on their front lawn.

The city at night wasn’t a thing Keiji got to experience. It was something most teenagers never had to think about, as they went to midnight parties or laid on the grass with their lovers to watch the stars. The teenage experience he had always read about in books or seen in films. Keiji couldn’t have any of that; a prisoner of his own condition. Fear and unnecessary paranoia cooped him inside.

Instead he watched the outside unfurl through the window. It had started raining, and his eyes tracked the drops as they raced eachother down the glass, barely visible under the light of the moon. Keiji had never been a fan of the night because it highlighted just how quiet the days were here, too, and the night was inescapable. His days were filled with Bokuto and school and Bokuto and volleyball and Bokuto. In the night he was constrained.

Sleep had almost crept up on him, swaddled in blankets as his eyelids drifted shut, when the front door quietly _clicked._ Suddenly he was wide awake, sat bolt upright with his phone gripped in his hand, ready to call authorities if needed.

Logically, he knew it was Kazumi. The gnawing hole in his gut said otherwise. He waited until he could hear the sound of shoes being taken off and socked feet padding up the hall before he called out.

“Kazumi?”

There was a pause, and then his brother was stood in the doorway, difficult to discern from the dark background. His skin was shiny with rain.

“You’re up late,” he said softly, eyeing the piles of blankets Keiji was wrapped in, eyes trailing to the pillows. “Staying down here tonight?”

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

“It’s half eleven.”

“Most people don’t even think that’s late, Keiji. Wait until you get to university! God, if you think _eleven’s_ late just wait.”

He was trying to lighten the mood. Keiji could pick up on the strain in his voice. Kazumi must have known, too, because after Keiji didn’t reply he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, averting his midnight eyes.

“I just wanted to think for a bit.”

“Why couldn’t you think in here?”

“The house is too loud.”

The house was never anything but silent. Keiji understood, though, mind recalling all the nights he laid in bed with an overcompensating brain, struggling to pick the relevant thoughts out from the irrelevant. Everything seemed louder in the silence.

Kazumi smiled. “You waited up for me?”

“I needed to check everything was locked. There’s no point if someone with a key is still outside.”

Kazumi nodded. Keiji knew it was the wrong thing to say when he saw the disappointed look as Kazumi turned away. He cast another glance to the window. The raindrops glowed every colour of the rainbow.

“Well, I’m back now,” Kazumi said, and Keiji could hear the slight edge to his words. “You can do your thing.”

“I want to go outside.”

The way he said it sounded embarrassing to his own ears, like he had never left the house before. Kazumi was confused too if his raised eyebrow was anything to go by.

“What?”

“I never leave the house in the evening. I was just thinking about it.”

“Oh. I never noticed.”

“I want to see what its like.”

“It’s nothing special. Exactly like it is in the daytime, just dark.” Kazumi looked unimpressed. A bead of water trickled down his cheek. “It’s also raining.”

Keiji smiled. “Cool.” He stood up and sidestepped Kazumi in the doorway, moving to the porch to grab his coat. His hand hovered nervously over the door handle, glowing hot below his palm.

With a final spurt of courage he twisted it. It wasn’t like it had been checked tonight, anyways.

“Keiji-” Kazumi started as Keiji toed on his shoes, the porch door now the only degree of separation from the outside chill. Keiji perused the choice of expensive coats. Kazumi remained stagnant by the living room. Keiji looked up unimpressed.

“Are you coming?”

Kazumi stared. Keiji was alight with electric, nervous energy. There was a single moment where Keiji thought he might refuse and stay holed inside, but then Kazumi shook his hair and sent the water particles flying. He held onto Keiji’s shoulder as he slipped on his shoes.

“You’re mad.”

Keiji didn’t deign it with a response. He plucked his nice, wool coat his parents had gotten him for his last birthday from the hook. It was cold beneath his fingers but warm as he shrugged it on. Kazumi pulled on something which looked significantly more waterproof.

Nerves caused his hand to tremble as he held the doorknob. This wasn’t a big deal. He knew this was something other people did so easily, a fear so intrinsic Keiji had never really even considered it before. It chilled him all the same.

Then he twisted it and allowed the light to filter in.

Kazumi was wrong. He said the street at night looked exactly like it did in the daytime but dark, and he was wrong, because in the daytime there are constant streams of people weaving in and out of roads. In the daytime it’s _loud,_ with screaming children and cars speeding through deserted streets and footsteps of running teenagers late to school. In the daytime streetlights don’t pool orange on the concrete. There aren’t stars when it’s light. Everything was entirely different.

Keiji stepped out into it and let the cool air chill his cheeks. Kazumi shut the door behind him, and Keiji realised all at once that nothing about this made him feel as nervous as he thought it would. The rain beat against his head incessantly. He could feel the cold drops gliding down his cheeks, falling off the low point of his chin. He closed his eyes against it. When they blinked open again he noticed Kazumi did not look as happy to be out as him.

“Why are we doing this?” Kazumi asked him, eyebrow raised, arms rubbing themselves to bid away the cold. Keiji walked backwards up the drive. He wanted to see the moon.

“I want to see it.”

“Why in the _rain?”_

Time felt different in the dark, in the pouring cold. Keiji was suddenly aware of how small he was in the universe, of how much time he had wasted already. They were the thoughts that kept him up at night, caged in his room, but out here in the openness of the street he had always lived on he had never felt more free. They felt closer akin to enlightenment than confinement.

He could feel his eyebrows drawing together as he walked into the middle of the road, craning his neck to see the sky. His arms extended out at his sides and he let the rain soak him.

“Keiji, are you sure you don’t want a coat with a hood? You’re-”

“Do you ever think about how weird it is that we’re related?” Keiji asks, tone light and conversational. He couldn’t rip his eyes away from the tiny, benevolent moon. “Imagine if we weren’t brothers. I can’t imagine we’d be friends.”

“Rude.”

“Really. You’re so shitty. I don’t think I’d go near you if we didn’t grow up together.”

“Wow,” Kazumi replied, dryly. “Thanks. You really don’t need to tell me this.”

Keiji grinned. He scrunched his eyes shut.

The rain poured down him. It was soaking into his being, so deep Keiji could feel it rattling his bones. Keiji _hated_ the rain usually, but right now it was soothing the burns all over his body.

Things were so shitty, all the time. But he was still here. He was _alive._ He was alive and he had things, _people,_ he was grateful for. People he wouldn’t leave for the world.

His hands clenched into fists, nails cutting into his palms, a sign that he was living; that he hurt and he recovered.

Something within him was burning. Without thinking he yelled, as loud as he could into the empty, silent night. It was a noise from somewhere deeper than his chest, something he had ached to be freed of, a weight that left with it.

When it ended he opened his eyes to Kazumi, watching him with drawn eyebrows. Kazumi had forgotten to put the hood of his coat up too, and his hair was soaked.

“What are you _doing?”_ Kazumi asked, voice complex. He looked angry.

Keiji grinned. His chest was heaving. “Living.”

Kazumi watched him, eyes searching for something Keiji didn’t know.

Then, without prompting, Kazumi stretched his chest to the sky and _yelled_.

It was loud, and deep, and angry and happy and everything all at once. It went on forever.

When he stopped they locked eyes, breathless. Keiji laughed. Kazumi did too. They let the rain soak them.

Keiji yelled again and Kazumi did too, a shorter sound this time, just because they could. He knew they would get in trouble in the morning, that this was the reckless behaviour Keiji _never_ exhibited as the most perfect, most obedient teenager. He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face as he stood in the derelict road with his brother at midnight, cold and wet and eyes unfocusing as they yelled in tandem to the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God,,,, theres only one chapter left. I'm going to leave the big emotional paragraph to the final chapter but I am legitimately getting emotional uploading this. This story means so much to me. The biggest thank you in the whole world for those of you still reading <3


	25. to love and be loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somedays i wonder if the sun will shine  
> somedays i pray for just a ray of light  
> come take my hand and tell me you'll stay by my side  
> always run my way when i call you  
> you're the anchor i'm holding tight onto  
> you are my home away from home  
> home away from home
> 
> -home away from home, canopy climbers

Keiji knew it was a cliche, but he couldn’t help but feel the air was colder here. With every step the cobblestone beneath his feet seemed to _snap,_ and when they moved onto grass he could tell it was covered with wet, cold dew.

Bokuto was glued to his side, wrapped up warm in a coat and a scarf Keiji had hastily draped around his neck. Keiji pressed their shoulders together as they walked. He would have entangled their hands but the cold forced them deep into his pockets instead. Ironically the sky was bright above them.

They navigated their way carefully, respectfully, through the iron gates and the winding paths. Keiji didn’t know which way they were going. Bokuto did, intimately.

“It’s not much further,” Bokuto said, sparing a hasty glance over his shoulder to Keiji, who smiled as warmly as he could muster.

“It’s alright,” he reassured. Bokuto turned forward resolutely.

He was right; it wasn’t much further at all. After another two minutes of walking they stood on the grassy verge before the sleek marble and stone monument.

“Here he is.”

The gravestone shone beneath a thin layer of dust, glinting under the cold sunlight. Bokuto immediately moved to wipe the dust away but Keiji could see the name even through it; _Bokuto Shinjiro. 15. Son and brother, comedian and musician, taken too soon._

Keiji pulled his hand out of his pocket to grab for Bokuto’s, still furiously wiping away the layers of dirt that had built up. Bokuto smiled sadly at the stone. Ornaments and laminated photographs littered the dirt mound in front of it; a young boy laughing as his older sister grappled him in a headlock. Both of them had long, dark hair, and Shinjiro with thick glasses on his nose. Another one of Shinjiro taken from a side view, sat on the bench at an old, large piano much too big for his childish hands. In another photograph Keiji could clearly identify Bokuto by the tiny pout on his young, round face, stood next to a grinning Shinjiro. Keiji was surprised when he noticed how Bokuto’s hair rested flat against his head, and how Shinjiro’s was gelled in two familiar spikes.

Keeping their hands entwined, Bokuto dropped to his knees next to the gravestone, head bowed. Keiji could see he was smiling gently.

“Hi, Shinjiro,” Bokuto started and Keiji felt his heart grow four sizes, desperately trying to escape his chest to burrow next to Bokuto. “I hope you’re doing good up there. I know it’s been a while since my last visit.”

There was no response. Bokuto shifted and laughed as though he heard one anyway.

“Anyways, I brought someone for you to meet. I know you hate being left out of the loop, so, it’s Akaashi-kun! Keiji. I’ve spoken about him before.”

Keiji wasn’t exactly sure what to do, but after a precursory glance to Bokuto he cleared his throat and moved to kneel down beside him. He bowed his head respectfully, reassured by the gentle squeeze of Bokuto’s hand in his.

“Hello, Shinjiro-san.”

“Keiji is nervous, that’s why he’s being so formal,” Bokuto laughed. Even though it was true Keiji couldn’t help but nervously laugh along too. He was worried the visit would make Bokuto upset, but if anything it seemed to be reinvigorating him. Keiji wasn’t afraid of looking silly if it make Bokuto happier.

He laughed. “I am. I’ve heard great things about you, Shinjiro-san.”

“He’s heard great things about you _too_ , Keiji! He’s probably crapping his pants up there right now.”

“Even so, I want to make a good first impression.”

Bokuto smiled at him and Keiji swore he could see the entire sun in his eyes, gold and glowing, his head gently cocked to the side. “You already have.”

Bokuto was still managing to render him speechless. Keiji didn’t know what to say so he just knocked their shoulders together softly, allowing himself to linger up against Bokuto’s side afterwards. Bokuto turned his gaze back towards the headstone.

“Me and Keiji are dating, Shinjiro. I know you never got to meet him, and we can’t really ask for your blessing, but I had to tell you. Oh you would love him, Shinji. He’s so good to me, and I really, _really_ love him. He came to Kumiko’s wedding with me.”

Keiji rested his head on Bokuto’s shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was here even if Bokuto seemed almost happy talking to the stone.

Bokuto recounted everything that had happened since his last visit six months ago, embarrassment at talking into the air in front of someone else slowly bleeding away as his words got more confident, telling Shinjiro about his job at the flower store and Fukurodani making nationals and he and Keiji’s first kiss.

Keiji let his eyes close as he listened, and he sat there patiently as the day passed overhead.

—

Fitting his room into boxes made Keiji aware of how little belongings he really had, though it didn’t keep him from getting nostalgic over his few possessions.

There weren’t many photographs of his childhood, which he was endlessly upset over, but he found one in his bottom drawer of his first year at Fukurodani, the whole volleyball team grinning toothily at the camera, arms tight around each others backs. They looked so _young,_ sweaty as if they had just finished a game and buzzing with excited energy _._ Of course, he and Bokuto stood next to each other, joined at the hip. They always had been.

There were other things neatly sorted away- keychains from days out, old shoelaces because he couldn’t stand it whenever his started to fray, a friendship bracelet made of raggedy yarn that was given to him by somebody he could no longer remember. He packed them all away in a box to come with him to their new home.

Initially he worried they would move far, but that was impossible given his fathers high ranking job status and need to stay close for commute. Keiji supposed pulling him from school a year before he graduates would have been unnecessary stress, too. His father had found somewhere already- a smaller house maybe fifteen minutes away from their current one.

Keiji hadn’t seen it in person but he had briefly flicked through the photo’s on the listing website. The floors were largely carpeted rather than hardwood. Their kitchen and dining room were connected, so you could talk to whoever was eating while you cooked. There were only three bedrooms, and they were noticeably smaller than the ginormous one he resided in currently. There probably wouldn’t be enough room to fit a desk in there. Keiji’s heart had sped up as he flicked through them, and it took him a moment to realise he was _excited._

Keiji had very few good memories in this house. He was ready to go out and make new ones.

The bedroom door was left ajar so he heard the footsteps from a mile away and wasn’t caught off guard by the quiet, repeated knocking on the door. His back was to it so he turned around, unsurprised to see Kazumi’s smiling face.

“Hey,” he called out, as much an invitation as any. Kazumi took a seat next to Keiji on the floor in the centre of the room.

“What’s all this, then?” Kazumi asked, scrutinising an old, bent record on the ground- one of the many things Keiji had almost forgotten he had.

“I’m going through all my things. Sorting out what’s coming with me and what’s not.”

“Which piles not made the cut?”

Keiji pointed. Kazumi’s face fell and he lunged towards it.

“Oh no- please tell me Dr. Brownbear fell in here by accident!”

Kazumi clutched Keiji’s raggedy old teddybear to his chest, pouting. Keiji had found it in a box at the top of his closet. He stared at Kazumi blank faced.

“I’m eighteen.”

“So? Dr Brownbears only twelve- he’s still a child, Keiji! I’m pretty sure that’s abuse.”

He rolled his eyes, but reluctantly snatched the toy back from Kazumi, placing it in the _keep_ pile. He was stupid for thinking that would be enough to satiate him, because then Kazumi was reaching for a binder full of Keiji’s old schoolwork.

“That’s years old, Kazumi. I don’t need that.”

“But you worked so hard. Look- _100%!_ You can’t throw that away!”

“There’s no point bringing it with me.”

“Then, what about-” he grabbed something else from the pile. Keiji could feel his eyebrows drawing lower before he even glanced at it.

“-you can’t throw _this_ out!”

Kazumi was holding a t-shirt three sizes too small for him. Keiji must have been thirteen when he last wore it.

“Kazumi, what are you even-”

“This is what you wore the day we went to the Japan internationals game! You can’t throw it out!”

“I can’t just keep it because of the memories. What am I going to do with it?”

“I don’t-” Kazumi started but he cut himself off. It was clear he knew how ridiculous he was being, too, because he didn’t say anything when Keiji threw it back into the _throw out_ pile. Kazumi’s hand was outstretched towards it, as if he wanted to grab it, but he let it slowly fall to the floor.

Keiji didn’t know whether to continue sorting or not. It felt odd to do it under Kazumi’s heavy, lingering stare.

“That reminds me,” Kazumi said, clearing his throat. “I got you a moving out present.”

“That doesn’t work if we’re both moving out.”

Kazumi didn’t respond. Instead he shoved his hand deep into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a thick wad of bills. Keiji’s eyes bulged.

“Holy- Kazumi, what?” Keiji was trying to do the math. There had to be at least 100,000 yen. Probably more. _Definitely more._ His eyes were flicking between Kazumi’s face and the money. “Where did you even get that?”

“Relax, I didn’t- I didn’t take it.” He cleared his throat again and averted his eyes, focusing on a spot somewhere on the floor by their knees. “I sold my car.”

At Keiji’s widened expression he shoved his hands in front of him. “I’ve already paid off Arisu! I don’t- you’re next for me. You’re next for me to make things right with.”

“ _What?_ I don’t want this-”

“You’ve still got a week left to decide on whether to accept your scholarship or not. I haven’t forgotten what I told you in the car.”

 _We’ll make something work,_ minutes before Keiji found his stolen watch in the backseat. _We?_ Keiji had asked back.

“You said you wanted to go to Kyoto, to do art, but that it was too expensive. This isn’t a lot, but it’s a start. It’ll get you through a deposit, and you could even apply for scholarships- you’re so fucking clever, Keiji, _and_ you do national level sports! They’d be stupid-”

“I can’t take your money,” Keiji said, exasperated, but the idea was now dangled above his head.

He could go to Kyoto, get away from everything here once and study what he wanted, _how_ he wanted. He ached for it desperately, like he had never wanted anything before. A life of his own choosing. Keiji knew the want showed in his eyes.

Kazumi smiled, sadly. “I fucked things up between us so many times, but this isn’t pity money Keiji. I would have given you this anyway, even if I never stole, even if I didn’t have anything to make up for. I never got to live my dream, and I know it’s fucking stupid but I-” Kazumi choked up. “I want you to go out and get yours. I don’t want you to end up like me. Stuck. And even if you decide you don’t want to go to Kyoto I want you to have it to keep doing what you love.”

Keiji’s tongue was dry. Kazumi laughed and pressed the bills into Keiji’s palms, forcibly closing his fingers around them.

“But, Bertha-” Keiji couldn’t help but recount the stupid name Kazumi had given his Fiesta. Kazumi laughed.

“ _Bertha,”_ he emphasised, “is a giant hunk of metal- one that I have no connections to and can replace whenever I want. You are my human, one-of-a-kind, stupid brother.”

Keiji looked down at the money, shifting it between his fingers, feeling the wind coasting through the bills as they fanned between his two hands.

“I’m not even that good at art.”

It was his attempt at deflection but his voice broke halfway through. He knew Kazumi heard it, too, because he knocked their shoulders together.

“If you don’t get in I’m gonna be so mad.”

Keiji laughed. “I still hate you,” he said, but his voice was wet.

Kazumi smiled, pressing the palms of his hands into the floor as he moved to push himself up. He had done what he came here for. “I know.”

Keiji watched as Kazumi walked back to the doorway, eclipsed by the hallway light, backlit and barely visible. He smiled.

“Wait!” Keiji yelled, and before he knew what he was doing he was scrambling to his legs, moving through piles of sorted and unsorted shit, and flung his arm tight around his brothers waist.

Kazumi laughed. Keiji could feel it vibrating against his head as his brother returned the embrace, crushing his arms around Keiji’s shoulders and pulling him tight against his chest.

“Thank you,” Keiji muttered. The pile of money sat in his place in the floor. He hadn’t thought to grab it- only to get to Kazumi before he left.

He couldn’t remember the last time they hugged. Kazumi clutched him tighter. “I love you Keiji. I actually do.”

Keiji closed his eyes. “I love you too.”

—

That conversation spurred a realisation in him later, sorting through his piles of things while Kazumi layed unhelpfully on the bed. He had just moved a pile of clothes into the _throw out_ pile when it seized him, and he stood up without thought, smashing his palms into his cheeks. Wordlessly he moved to the door. Kazumi sat up, surprised and questioning.

“Where are you going?” He asked as Keiji grabbed his jacket from behind the door.

“There are some people I need to thank.”

“Oka-” Kazumi started, but Keiji was gone before he finished.

Now he stood in front of the familiar door, surrounded by the familiar bushes. Familiar screams and laughter of children and the familiar light of Bokuto’s bedroom window.

Keiji knocked twice. It was difficult to do, given that both of his arms were holding bouquets.

After a moment he could hear quiet footsteps up the hall and the sound of the door unlatching. He bowed as soon as it swung open.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s mother Atsuko laughed, confused but welcoming. “It’s good to see you! What are you-”

“I wanted to thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

She was quiet, and then the sound of her hearty laughter filled the air. She put a hand on Keiji’s shoulder and he rose, pushing the bouquet of geraniums and hydrangeas into her wide arms.

“These are for you. And for Hiroki.”

“Akaashi-” she laughed, shaking her head. She looked so much like Bokuto. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No, I- Bokuto-san, you have been nothing but kind to me, and accepting, and I know this doesn’t make up for it but- I don’t know. I needed to give _something_ back.” He took a deep breath. There was so much he needed to say, and he couldn’t look in her eyes while he said it. “I know I’m difficult but I- I _really_ love Koutarou. A lot. And just- my family were _horrible_ to him, and you’ve been nothing but so kind to me. Thank you for accepting our relationship, and letting me stay here when I couldn’t go home. For caring.” He breathed again, clenched his eyes shut and his fist along with it. “Thank you for being a family to me when I needed one.”

“Akaashi, don’t you-” she cut herself off, and when Keiji forced his eyes open he saw she had tears in her eyes. She grabbed him by the shoulder. “Come here.”

He did, and Atsuko pulled him into a tight hug, crushing the flowers between their bodies.

“Don’t you be so silly again. You don’t need to thank us for anything. We _are_ your family, okay?” She pulled back, just enough to look in Keiji’s eyes as she said it. “Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Bokuto couldn’t have chosen anyone better if he tried.”

Keiji shucked his shoes off in the hall. Atsuko called out for Hiroki once he stepped into the entryway, and Keiji watched as the man’s knobbly figure made its way up the hall towards them.

He had compared Hiroki and his father so many times in his head Keiji was surprised there was still room to do so. Especially now that he was moving in with his father for good, and he knew comparing them was pointless.

“Hello, Akaashi. So good to see you.”

“Hiroki, Akaashi-kun bought these for us.”

She offered him the bouquet and he took it, looking up to Keiji with curiosity. The gaze dragged the words out of his chest.

“I just wanted to say thank you both for being there for me when I needed it, when you didn’t have to. I know you’re not- I’m not your son, but you treat me like you- I don’t know. Just- thank you. For everything.”

Hiroki didn’t laugh like Atsuko did. He didn’t cry, either. Instead he stared at Keiji pensively, gaze heavy.

“You know, family is a funny thing Akaashi, because it comes and it goes. We have not always been so accepting, or close, but it took the death of our child before we truly understood what family was. _Is.”_

Hiroki levelled him with a stare. Keiji clutched the other boquet tighter in his arms.

“Family is understanding, and it’s caring. It’s listening when somebody tells you a story because you know how much it means to them. It’s being there when they’ve had a tough day at work, or school, and embracing them with open arms. It’s correcting their mistakes, and it’s learning from your own. Family is love, above all else. Blood is the smallest factor in family, Akaashi.”

“You’ve been more of a father to me than my own,” Keiji said, reluctant. The words weren’t easy to admit, nor to get out.

Hiroki smiled at last. “And you’ve been a welcome son.”

When Hiroki opened his arms Keiji rushed into them.

Losing his mother was difficult, but Keiji had always known deep down that nothing he did would ever be enough for her. It was easier to pass off her failure to parent him as _her_ fault rather than his own. But his father’s affection had been a thing Keiji was craving for so long and something just beyond reach that Keiji thought it would be attainable if he just moved _faster,_ if he just tried that bit _harder._

It wasn’t the easy love Hiroki gave him. Keiji’s father wasn’t understanding, or open, and Keiji had to fight for every scrap of affection he could get. This casual touch had been something he had been aching for all his life. Hiroki rubbed a hand up Keiji’s back, between his shoulder blades, and Keiji couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

He didn’t know how to thank Hiroki for all of this; for asking about driving over dinner, for talking in elusive metaphors and literary quotes he knew only Keiji would understand, for holding Keiji in his arms when he cried at three in the morning while Bokuto slept upstairs. For telling Keiji he was something special. For pressing a kiss to Keiji’s hair and calling him _son_ like the word was reverent, like he would be proud to have Keiji as part of his eclectic, brilliant family.

Hiroki patted his back once, twice, and pulled back. Keiji cleared his throat and bowed again.

There would never be enough words to thank the two of them for everything they had done for him, but from the smile in their eyes Keiji knew they understood, and he also knew there would be plenty more time to thank them in the future.

“Is it okay if I see Koutarou, please? I would like to thank him too.”

They eyed the other bouquet in Keiji’s arms, slightly crushed from the hugs, and laughed. Atsuko tilted her head. “He’s in the garden.”

“Thank you,” he said again, and moved through the kitchen until he got to the back door, cautiously pushing it open and stepping out into the cool breeze.

He could hear Bokuto before he saw him, laughing and chasing Hibiki and Yuna around the scrawny tree. Their shrieks were shrill and, though Bokuto was faster, he always ran three steps behind them.

Bokuto’s head snapped up when he heard the door shut and the children ran on without him.

“Akaashi,” he said, breathless from running, sleeves rolled up over his shoulders. His eyes flitted down to the flowers in Keiji’s arms.

He shouted over to his siblings. “Okay, game’s over! You two head inside now!”

“But _Kou,”_ Yuna whined, and then she noticed Keiji in the doorway. She nudged Hibiki in the ribs and giggled. “It’s _‘Kaashi.”_

_“Inside.”_

They ran past Keiji, giggling as the door shut behind them. Keiji wanted to move but was suddenly alight with nerves. Why was he _nervous?_ As if sensing it Bokuto moved to sit on the step Keiji was standing on, patting beside him as he stretched his legs out. Keiji could see his eyes darting down to the flowers.

“These are for you,” Keiji said, suddenly nervous, taking a seat as he thrust them into Bokuto’s chest.

Sunflowers, primrose and red chrysanthemums- he had picked them specially. When Bokuto closed his arms around them his eyes widened, and a small smile stretched serenely on his lips as his eyebrows drew together.

“What are these for?”

“I can’t just give you flowers?”

“You don’t do things without a reason.”

Keiji shrugged. “Because I love you. Because you deserve them.”

Bokuto’s grin hit his eyes, transforming them into two small, happy crescents. Wordlessly he moved his head to Keiji’s shoulder, clutching the flowers like a lifeline.

“I came to thank your parents for everything they’ve done for me. For- you know, letting me in in the middle of the night, for letting me stay over. Asking about me. Your mom messaged me after we were outed- I don’t think I ever told you. She said she was there if I needed her, and that I was _okay.”_ He took a deep breath in, one breath out. Bokuto was looking up at him from his shoulder. “I woke up in the night a few months ago and ran into your father and started crying and he just- held me. Did things that my own parents never do.”

Bokuto shifted the bouquet in his arms until one of his hands were free, and he linked it with Keiji’s on the wooden step, running his thumb in calming circles along the back of his hand. Keiji smiled despite himself.

“I wanted to thank you too, Koutarou. For having me. For loving me.”

Bokuto smiled into his shoulder. Even if he never admitted it, Keiji knew he loved the praise. “Last week you spent a whole evening _worshiping_ me Keiji. You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.”

“I’m your boyfriend. It’s my _job_ to love you.”

“Well, thank you. For being my boyfriend, then.”

“Stop trying to find loopholes!”

Keiji laughed. It was something airy and light. Somehow, with Bokuto, everything was.

Bokuto shifted again, until his head was no longer on Keiji’s shoulder but instead they were pressed at the hip, until Bokuto was so close Keiji would only have to lean forward a fraction to press their lips together.

“Todai sent through the details of my scholarship earlier.” Bokuto said, cautious. “Would you like to come and see the campus? It’s okay if you don’t! I know you don’t really like to talk about University!”

Todai. The University of Tokyo, one of the top five universities in Japan, and the one Bokuto has received a scholarship to play national league volleyball at. Only twenty minutes from Tokai, where Keiji himself had received a scholarship.

They could live together there. Every morning Keiji could wake up to Bokuto’s brilliant, beautiful face. They could play volleyball against eachother.

Or Keiji could go to Kyoto, the place he longed to be more than anywhere else, hours and hours away.

Bokuto was wide-eyed, hands still linked. Keiji’s stare lingered. Maybe this was what he needed to help him decide.

He squeezed Bokuto’s palm. “Of course.”

Bokuto smiled. Quickly he spared a glance to the window in the door behind him, then back to Keiji.

“Can I kiss you? Nobody’s-”

Keiji grabbed Bokuto lightly by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to his lips, which Bokuto melted into immediately, arms still cradling the orange flowers in his lap.

—

Kazumi was considerably less packed than Keiji was. He had to pick his way through the cluttered minefield of junk to get to Kazumi’s bed against the wall, where Kazumi was longingly staring at old t-shirts and music vinyls, clearly reliving the moments he got them all.

“Need any help?” He offered, taking a seat beside Kazumi. He laughed, shaking his head, turning the vinyl in his hands.

“I’m such a fucking hoarder.”

Keiji craned his neck. “What is it?”

Kazumi laughed again, and then threw the vinyl into one of the many piles on the floor; Keiji wasn’t sure if that meant it was being kept or not. “The song Arisu wanted for our first dance.”

Keiji’s eyes bulged. “You-”

“Not officially, but we talked about the future a lot. Marriage came up. Well, guess I have no use for it now,” he said, but then grinned. “Unless you and Bokuto want it, of course-”

Keiji shoved him and Kazumi laughed, falling backwards onto the bed, hands coming to rest serenely over his stomach as his hair fanned around his face, longer and curlier than Keiji’s.

“You’re right,” Keiji said and Kazumi grinned playfully. “You’re a fucking hoarder.”

“All these things have memories! I can’t get rid of them! I’m not as ruthless as you, Keiji.”

Being called that by anyone else might have hurt. His brother didn’t count. With a sigh he pushed himself to his feet.

“Come on then. Which one’s the throw away pile?”

Kazumi cracked open an eye. “The what?”

“Oh my god,” Keiji blanked. “You are useless.”

“We’re just moving! Why does anything need to be thrown away?”

“Because you’ve probably never cleaned this room in your life. I bet you have old shit from when you were twelve in here.”

As if to prove his point Keiji came across a handful of paper on Kazumi’s desk, clinging to eachother as if they had gotten wet with rain and dried as one thick piece. Keiji pried the pages apart and found it was math homework from when Kazumi was fourteen.

“You’re keeping this?” Keiji asked, brow cocked. Kazumi snatched it from his hand and Keiji was surprised it didn’t fall apart.

“I remember this class! Look, it’s when Tomiko scribbled her phone number in the margins. I can’t throw it away!”

Keiji sighed and put it back down on the desk. It wasn’t his place to pick and choose what was important to Kazumi.

“Okay, well. I’m just gonna box things up for you then, if you’re not throwing anything out.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Keiji brought in a stack of boxes from the hallway, unfolding them and running packaging tape down the seams to keep it sturdy. It felt somewhat invasive digging through Kazumi’s belongings, but Kazumi had put some music on in the background and they were taking so, in a way, it was sort of just like hanging out, if he could ignore the _fitting their lives into boxes_ bit. Deep down Keiji knew the reason he was keeping Kazumi company was because he was worried Kazumi wouldn’t pack his things away if Keiji wasn’t here doing it for him- that he would stay holed up in this house forever.

He started with Kazumi’s music collection as it was probably the least invasive, and together they worked for a while in complacent silence. Keiji would pick up a record, examine it for only a second before forcing himself to put it away in a box. It was repetitive, and easy for Keiji to find comfort in.

“I’m nervous for Bokuto to leave,” Keiji said suddenly, out of nowhere.

Not out of nowhere, but because the record he currently held in his hands said _Frank Sinatra_ on the front. Kazumi shifted on the bed.

“Oh,” he said. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he responded, shrugging. “Because we’re going to be long distance, I guess.”

“Well, not really,” Kazumi reasoned. He was examining records too. “I mean Bokuto’s only going to be, like, half-an-hour away on the bus. It might be long-distance in a year depending on where _you_ go, but that isn’t something to be thinking about _now.”_

“I’m just scared of it being different.” After a second he added, “not as good.”

“For you or Bokuto?”

Keiji rolled his eyes. Kazumi was all-knowing.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Keiji.”

“I know,” he sighed. Hastily he taped across the top of the box he had just finished filling and moved it by the door. When he looked over his shoulder he noticed that all the records had now been filed away, so he looked to Kazumi for further instruction. “What next?”

Kazumi looked up from the floor, where he was arm deep in old high-school photo albums. “Uh, could you start on some of my clothes? All my sweaters are hung up.”

“Alright.”

Carefully he crossed the room back to where the closet was; a tall piece of furniture which matched all the rest of Kazumi’s decor- dark, natural wood. Unlike the other perfect pieces in his room, though, Keiji could see a dent on the closet door from where Kazumi had angrily thrown a capo at it five years ago. Keiji curled his hands around the handles and pulled them open.

First he noticed the assortment of sweaters inside- everything either navy, grey or black, hung up on hangers or folded neatly in the side compartments. Then he noticed the giant mirror over one door, and his own raggedy appearance staring back at him in it.

But then he noticed what was on the other door.

“Kazumi,” he said, slowly, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to seep into his voice. “Is this my drawing?”

Keiji wasn’t sure why he asked- he _knew_ it was. It had the scrawled, harsh lines that showed young Keiji’s inexperience with holding a pencil, the way the faces didn’t quite look like who they were meant to be but just enough so that you could figure it out by their key features. The curly hair, the mouths stretched into grins.

It was a drawing Keiji had done a million years ago. A smaller Keiji and Kazumi looked back at him, crumpled and creased and torn in the corner.

“Oh god. I took that _years_ ago, Keiji, I swear-”

He remembered now, some night after his and Bokuto’s first official date, showing Bokuto his old sketchbooks. A page had been missing, but Keiji couldn’t remember what had been there.

Now he did. _This_ drawing. One Keiji had done when he was small, and one he had ripped out in a fit of anger after he decided he no longer wanted Kazumi in his life.

He thought it was gone for good. He had thrown it away, after all.

But here it was, taped on the inside door of Kazumi’s closet, somewhere Keiji would never have thought to look.

“You kept it?”

Kazumi’s eyebrows drew together- Keiji could see it in the mirror. “Of course.”

He brushed a finger over the corner, ragged and torn clean off, straight through the edge of where he had drawn his own curling hair. Kazumi’s arm was around his shoulder. They were both grinning at the camera- Keiji missing two teeth, Kazumi with a thick set of braces in his mouth.

Without second thought Keiji pulled it gently off the wooden panel, holding it reverently in his two hands.

When he moved to walk out the room, Kazumi yelled after him, “what are you doing?”

“This is mine,” Keiji said, matter-of-fact. “It’s coming with me to the new house.”

Kazumi’s jaw gaped. “You threw it _away._ It’s mine!”

Keiji laughed, rushing out the door before Kazumi could catch up, though he could hear the chasing footsteps echoing up the hall.

“Finder’s keepers, Keiji!”

“Fuck you!” He yelled over his shoulder, playfully.

Kazumi laughed. “Language! You fucking dick.”

Keiji slammed the door shut behind him, effectively keeping Kazumi out. He smoothed the drawing over with his fingers.

He wasn’t actually going to keep the drawing- Kazumi could have it. He just wanted one final look in the privacy of his own room.

Kazumi banged on the door and Keiji stuffed it into a drawer.

—

They stood outside the wooden door, the numbers _228_ on a silver tag near the top, and Bokuto slid his spare hand into Keiji’s. The other had a tight grip on the key.

“This is exciting, isn’t it?” Bokuto grinned.

Keiji could feel the energy radiating off of him. Bokuto was buzzing on the balls of his feet, clearly eager to open the door and stare into the room that would be his home for the next year. To some degree, Keiji was too.

“It is,” he said, and then nudged Bokuto forward. “Go on, then. Open it.”

Bokuto pushed the key into the lock, but before he could turn it and push the door open he deflated. “What if it’s not what I hoped?”

“The room?” Keiji asked. The hallway was completely deserted- it was summer, and the only reason Bokuto had been able to collect his key was because he was a scholarship student, separated into a different block.

“Everything. What if university is too hard? Or I can’t keep up with the volleyball team. What if I miss my family too much?” His shoulders sagged, and he looked over to Keiji with nervous eyes. “What if I miss you?”

Keiji couldn’t help himself. Without thinking he pressed himself to Bokuto’s side, loosely linking his arms around his stomach and pressing his lips down to his shoulder. Then he leaned forward to kiss Bokuto’s cheek.

“I’m going to visit you every weekend. Maybe even more,” Keiji kissed him again. “Maybe I’ll just come and live here with you. You’ll have to throw me out.”

“I wouldn’t do that ever.”

“Not if we never see this room! Come on,” he squeezed his arms around Bokuto reassuringly. “Open it.”

“Okay.”

He did, slower than Keiji thought Bokuto was capable of doing anything, although the nervousness dissipated as soon as Bokuto caught a glimpse of the room.

“Oh my god, Keiji _look!”_ Bokuto laughed, suddenly overwhelmingly excited. “A double bed! Oh my god-”

Bokuto flung himself backwards onto it, bouncing on the squeaking springs but looking happier than he had in a while. Eagerly he sat up and patted the mattress, so Keiji laid down beside his grinning face.

There were no sheets, or duvet or pillows. Just the mattress and Bokuto.

It was smaller than Keiji’s own bed, but much bigger than the one Bokuto had back home. The room was easily three times the size of Bokuto’s old one. There was a window on one side and a yellow overhead light that kept buzzing.

“And look-” he yelled, suddenly fixated on something else and hopping off the mattress with a start, throwing himself into the black spinny chair in the room’s centre. “I have a desk!” He laughed, awed. “My own desk.”

Sometimes it was easy to forget the difference in their backgrounds- all these things Keiji had taken for granted in his house which Bokuto had never had, spinning in circles and laughing to the heavens over a _desk._

He loved it. He loved Bokuto _so_ much. Full of awe he propped himself up on his side so he could watch Bokuto’s ecstatic expression.

“This is a really nice room,” Keiji said, smiling. Seeing Bokuto happy made _him_ happy.

“Isn’t it? Look, there’s enough room for me to put some plants up here! And I’ve got a pinboard which I can fill with photos and drawings and everything. Mom’s making me a blanket, so that can go on the bed-”

Bokuto hopped up again, full of eager energy that needed to be used up.

“I have my own closet!”

He swung it open, grinning when he saw the mirror mounted inside it, and then shut it again. He rounded on Keiji.

“This is fantastic.”

“What’s the view like?”

Keiji could see vaguely craning his neck from the bed, but he got up at Bokuto’s insistence.

“Look! You can see the water fountains, and the gym! Look at the trees!”

Keiji peered out.

Bokuto was right. It was _breathtaking._

Under the beaming sunlight the campus was stunning, all lush greens and pretty pink flowers. The water rippled electric blue and Keiji could see an odd few people milling about, walking between buildings and into the campus coffee shop. Bokuto had told Keiji he had already applied for a job there.

“This is lovely, Koutarou.”

Bokuto flopped back down onto the mattress and Keiji followed suit, faces pressed close even though there wasn’t an excuse for it here other than the fact that they wanted to. He liked seeing the sunlight in Bokuto’s eyes, the easy up-turn of his grin.

“Do you like it?” Bokuto asked, smiling, and Keiji finally identified that he himself was feeling _excited._ Happy. It must have shown on his face because Bokuto grinned wider. “Happykaashi!”

“It’s amazing,” Keiji said, poking Bokuto. “Do _you_ like it?”

“I love it. I love it so much.”

Bokuto pressed his smile into the barren mattress, but then looked up to Keiji with vulnerable eyes. “Are you really going to visit?”

“You’re going to struggle getting rid of me.”

Bokuto laughed and kissed him. It was sweet, and it gave Keiji a moment to consider it. He could visit Bokuto after practice, sitting in the bleachers of the gym as he waited for him to finish up, and they could come back here and kiss each other deep into the mattress, which wouldn’t be barren like it was right now but covered in a duvet that smelled like Bokuto, and there would be a lock on the door to keep everyone else away. He could stay the night not because home was too far but because this _was_ home, because Bokuto was here.

He could accept the scholarship to Tokai, and he would only be a twenty minute train ride away. Keiji could come for lunch at the coffee shop Bokuto was working at, they could study together, spend all their time together the way they did now.

“I got an offer for Tokai,” Keiji said at last. The words were a weight off his chest, and he watched with careful eyes for Bokuto’s reaction. Shock registered first, but then a flashy white smile to rival all his others. “A scholarship.”

“Tokai? For volleyball?” Keiji nodded. Bokuto’s smile grew inhumanly wider. “That’s incredible! Keiji!”

He kissed below Keiji’s eye, his cheek, anywhere he could get his lips to force a laugh out of Keiji’s mouth, but Keiji didn’t have it in him. After a second Bokuto pulled back. He pressed a palm to Keiji’s cheek to coax their eyes to meet, and Keiji knew he had let him down.

“Do you not want to go?”

Keiji pulled his lip between his teeth, because after coming here for himself Keiji _knew_ what he wanted now.

He had come here hoping that seeing the campus would incline him to accept the scholarship- that seeing Bokuto so unbelievably excited would make _him_ excited to stay, that it would show Keiji that Tokai could incite that happiness in _him,_ too. But it didn’t, because Keiji wasn’t going to find that happiness here.

His happiness was out in Kyoto, and Keiji had almost thrown it away because he hadn’t thought he was deserving of it. Because Tokyo was good enough, and he didn’t know if Bokuto would stay with him if Kyoto was Keiji’s choice. He didn’t know if he was worth waiting for.

But seeing Bokuto so ecstatic, Keiji knew he was deserving of happiness too, of his own accord. And he knew Bokuto would never be upset with him for chasing it.

“I want to go to Kyoto, to do art.”

Four months ago Keiji wouldn’t have been able to say that sentence aloud because the shame of it was too great. Opposite Bokuto on an empty mattress, alone in the small university room, nothing in the world was easier.

Especially when Bokuto smiled. _Especially_ when Bokuto smiled.

“Kyoto?” Keiji nodded, and Bokuto laughed, happy. “That’s, like, the top university in Japan!”

Keiji nodded, suddenly worried. Bokuto was right. There was nothing to suggest he would ever get in-

“That’s so so cool! You’re going to do _art_?”

Bokuto sounded genuinely excited. Why did Keiji ever doubt him?

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Kazumi talked me into it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“I remember you telling me once when we walked home that you wanted to do art, but that you would probably do law instead.” Bokuto wasn’t just smiling anymore. He looked proud. His eyes shone with it. “God, Keiji. You’re so amazing.”

Keiji pushed a hand over Bokuto’s face, embarrassed. “Oh my god, stop.”

“What about after Uni? What do you want to do after? I want to play volleyball professionally, obviously. Maybe with the Adlers, or Black Jackals, I don’t know.”

“Architecture,” Keiji said, and then he noticed their voices were getting softer. They often did, when they were being honest. “I’d like to write stories, too.”

Bokuto nodded, gaze fond. Keiji felt him link their hands between them on the mattress. “Where would you wanna live?”

He knew the answer before he even had time to think about it, because Bokuto had described it seconds before their first kiss.

“Somewhere in the countryside,” he said, tracing patterns on Bokuto’s hand. “Somewhere with a garden, and a library,” his smile was soft, “and a dog.”

“That probably won’t be for a while,” Bokuto admitted. “We’re probably going to have to live somewhere shitty, first. An apartment in the city. Somewhere loud and noisy and doesn’t allow pets.”

“It can’t be that shitty. Not if you’re there.”

“Keijiiiii,” Bokuto whined, but his voice was still a hushed whisper. Keiji’s heart was full. He couldn’t imagine ever being in love with someone the way he was now.

“Do you want children?” Keiji asked at last, because it was something he had been thinking about for a long time, and something he was desperate to know the answer to. It came out as a rushed whisper.

“Yes,” Bokuto breathed immediately. “At least three. Maybe four.”

“Four?” Keiji spluttered. “I don’t know about four!”

“It’s my lucky number!”

“That doesn’t mean we need four _kids!”_

“How many do you want then?”

“Two,” he said immediately. “But only after we- after we get married.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and Keiji took momentary delight in knowing the words caught Bokuto off guard just as much as they shocked himself before he gave way to embarrassment.

“Married?” Bokuto asked, dumb.

Keiji spluttered. “You know, only if we- I’m not saying- just-”

But before he could make the words coherent in his head Bokuto was laughing, aimless and true. “You wanna marry me?”

If Keiji thought he was red before he knew he was red now. He had to avert his eyes from Bokuto’s. “At some point, maybe! I’m not _proposing_ -”

“I need to tell Kuroo we’re engaged.”

“We are _not_ engaged!”

“You didn’t even get me a ring! Keiji this is a shitty proposal-”

Bokuto pulled his phone out of his pocket and Keiji lunged for him, wrestling Bokuto into the mattress and inevitably being pushed back, filled with the kind of hysterical laughter only Bokuto could pull from him, grinning as Bokuto squished him under his body weight even as he let out desperate pleas.

This was what he lived for- for the unexplainable happiness that came from moments like these, that Bokuto had taught him to find. At seeing Bokuto’s hair disheveled after his hands had been desperately tugging at it, at the feeling of driving 100 up an empty road with Kazumi, at being beaten by Bokuto in their playful wrestling matches, the happy kisses, at finding his old drawing hung up and hidden in his brothers closet. These happy moments made everything else worth it, and they were getting easier for Keiji to find every single day.

When they were both tired and panting, Bokuto was still laughing.

“Will you propose to me one day then, Keiji?” He asked, and though he was playful Keiji knew there was some hope in the question.

“No,” he responded, but from stretching Bokuto’s grin he knew that he meant _yes._ He was suddenly overwhelmed by it. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bokuto said, and Keiji would never tire of the words.

They nearly fell asleep there on the bare mattress in that barren room, but Bokuto had tugged his hand just before the sun set. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

Keiji stood, letting himself lean into Bokuto’s side and hold his hand tight between them.

When they stepped out into the hallway Bokuto locked the door behind him and Keiji let the last glimpse of the room doused in evening sun linger in his mind. Bokuto put his jacket over Keiji’s shoulders and he thought of that room as they went back down the stairs, all the way out of the campus.

When Akaashi Keiji was fifteen, he wondered if he was capable of having somebody love him. As loving him, he realised, was a two-step process, because in order to stop pushing people away and letting them see his vulnerable parts Keiji needed to love _himself_ first _._ It was a step he had overlooked until recently. Until he loved Bokuto, and until there was nothing he wanted more than to feel Bokuto’s love in return.

Now, at age eighteen and walking hand-in-hand with Bokuto Koutarou down an evening street looking for a place to eat, Keiji realised that his fifteen year old self was wrong, and so were his parents. Because Keiji was allowed this; he was allowed to go to art school and to scream in the rain, and he was allowed to drive fast cars up fast lanes and check each window four times before going to bed. He could have a good relationship with his brother, and he was allowed to kiss his boyfriend goodnight on his doorstep without worrying who could see. He was going to captain his volleyball team and they were going to make nationals, because it _wasn’t_ just a useless hobby. He was going to go to Kyoto and Bokuto was going to wait for him to get back, and he wouldn’t love him any less for choosing himself first.

Akaashi Keiji was not only allowed to love, but he was deserving of it. He had spent so long trying to convince other people of it that he had almost forgotten to tell himself.

But now it felt like the easiest thing in the world.

Because Akaashi Keiji was loved, and he had given that to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, SO much for reading this story. I know it is just one fanfiction in a sea of millions, but to me writing this has been my life for the past six months. When I posted the first chapter of this and got 5 kudos I wondered if I would ever finish it or if scenes like the wedding and kazumi would just live forever in my mind. Thank you for reading this story. Thank you for giving it a chance.
> 
> I cannot thank everyone enough for reading and for commenting, for leaving Kudos on chapters, for recommending this story to their friends, for convincing me to get a twitter, for drawing FANART. For being patient when I struggled to write, for wishing me well at university, for supporting me even when it was difficult. I have struggled to write anything over 10k for years now, but this has truly given me my happiness in writing back. 
> 
> I'm going to miss writing this so so much, but this is where my version of Bokuto's and Akaashi's story ends. Thank you for loving them as much as I do, for caring about Kazumi too even though he is just a figment of my imagination. I will continue to write smaller fics, and I might even delve into another long one at some point, but for now this is it. Thank you for reading. I really cannot ever say thank you enough.
> 
> If you want to talk to me my twitter is @potathoelord !! I am slowly understanding how to use it :)
> 
> [ The Death of Our Hands, the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6mXtLqmlNUPOdflkBEprzc?si=x9z540VGREOV9ty-fffCqw)


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